The Price of Prejudice
by Annie Lockwood
Summary: When the future crumbles to dust, Hermione Granger makes a desperate last choice to save the world and flings herself backward through time. What she does not expect is to find love and a realization that prejudice can be a very dangerous thing.
1. Before The Dawn

_**The Price of Prejudice**_

_Disclaimer: _I own nothing from the world of Harry Potter...Even though that would truly make my WHOLE LIFE.  
_A/N: _Hello, all! I really hope you will enjoy this story. I think it is going to be great, but we shall see, haha! Please review and tell me what you think! Enjoy!

-Annie

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_**One- Before The Dawn**_

_December 25, 1998_

The frigid snow whipped about in shrouds of ominous chaos, but that was no surprise considering the entire world was wrapped up in a cloud of darkness. It was a night dark as coal, the onyx sky a canvas of black silk and sterling silver stars. The sleepy village of Godric's Hollow lay quietly under a bed of porcelain snow, shivering under the wintry cloak of the drowsy Christmas night. Its inhabitants were all tucked safe away in their beds or in their loved one's arms, enjoying their holiday night in relaxation, unaware of the pain in one girl's heart.

On the corner of the icy street, next to a quiet cemetery, stood a lonely, dilapidated house. Its windows were bashed, half of its roof was missing, the chimney was crumbling, the shutters were crooked and charred, and a small circle of candles were the only life of the house at all. Inside the small Victorian that had once belonged to Lily and James Potter before they met their untimely death on the evening of Octover 31, 1981, Hermione Jean Granger was in a state of unrest.

At different moments in the night she had switched from pacing unceasingly in the small masters bedroom to rocking back and forth in a crumpled heap on the floor. She currently sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms locked around them, her chin resting on her kneecaps. To any stranger, she would have looked mad that was for sure. She had been in the same holey and worn jeans, long-sleeved purple and blue plaid cotton shirt, and frayed tennis shoes for three days. Her caramel hair was pulled carelessly up in ponytail, several strands breaking loose and curling around her tear stained cheeks. Her eyes, once alight with the fire of a thousand volcanoes, had long since lost their infamous luster, now showing an age beyond her years. Dark purple circles had formed under her exhausted, bloodshot eyes. She had not slept in 27 hours.

In her left hand her wand shook furiously in her tight grasp as the fingers of her right hand danced with the flames of the five candles in front of her. They were the only warmth in the house apart from the warming spell she and Harry had cast hours previous, but even their spell didn't seem to be powerful enough to shake the chill enveloping the night. It was a terrible Christmas. Not being able to bear the silence any longer, she reached forward and turned on the radio. It was plain static for a few minutes before a voice came on the AM channel Hermione had become attached to.

"The Death Eaters have left the city and from what we can see here at Headquarters, they are headed toward the countryside. It is believed that You-Know-Who has taken possession of another body and is on a witch-hunt for Harry Potter. God be with him..."

Harry stirred above her on the king sized bed and sat up, rubbing his tired green eyes. He groped for his glasses on the bedside table and placed them on his nose. He blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the room before he shuddered and stretched. His bare feet hit the wooden floor of his parents bedroom as he stood up and walked gingerly over to the statuesque girl in front of him. Hermione jolted as Harry wrapped his blanket around her and rubbed her arms, trapping warmth inside her chilled body.

"I hate when you listen to this blasted thing," Harry griped and moved to turn off the radio, but her freezing hand caught his and pulled him back.

"Don't. I can't stand the quiet," Hermione whispered and Harry sighed, flopping cross-legged on the floor next to her.

"Okay, but can we at least turn it to something a bit less morbid? It _is_ Christmas, Hermione," Harry said and Hermione nodded, allowing him to turn the channel to a Christmas station. The radio now blared 'I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas'. It was her mother's favorite Christmas song. The very same mother she had buried alongside her father in the Godric Hollow cemetery seventeen hours previous. They hadn't even had their memory charms lifted before the evil bastard killed them...

Harry wrapped Hermione up in his arms and stroked her hair as she began to cry. She hated crying; she'd been doing it a lot lately. She and Harry were now both orphans, grieving their losses and wondering where life would lead them.

"Harry, what are we going to do now?" Hermione asked softly, snuggling into his chest.

"I don't know..." he said honestly.

They were silent for quite some time then, listening to their heartbeats and the cheerful songs of the radio. Everything seemed to be falling apart. How could this have happened? Voldemort had been dead...And yet, when Harry had killed him it did not kill his dark spirit. And instead of him dying as everyone believed he would, Voldemort survived only by the dark power he possessed. He was flown into the world as a dark spirit of an evil man, now moving across the world in search for Harry, believing that if he could kill Harry, his body would be restored once again. Until then he would feed on the souls of his victims, possessing their bodies until they decayed from his darkness, leaving him no other choice than to possess another and another and another, trapping his victims souls inside their dead bodies forever with no way to move on.

Hermione looked up at him after a while, tears glistening in her eyes.

"Harry, are you scared?" she asked and he breathed in deeply, nodding.

"Yeah, 'Mione. I am," he told her. "But you know something? If you stick to our plan, I know everything will be okay. You'll bring us all back."

"Harry, you're doing it again," Hermione sighed, feeling her throat constrict.

"What?"

"You keep acting as if you're going to die!" Hermione shouted, slapping his chest with her clammy palm. "For heaven's sake you are not going to die, all right? So, just stop it! You hear me? You aren't going to die!"

"Hermione, listen to me. You need to face the strong possibility that -"

"_No!" _Hermione cried furiously. "I won't let myself believe that everyone important to me is going to die! I won't survive it, Harry! I won't!"

"You _will_. And death is temporary, 'Mione," Harry said, cracking a grin. It made her want to strangle him. "You will bring us back. I have faith in you."

"Stop it..." Hermione choked. "Stop it before I start crying again."

"You know, it is okay to cry," Harry said, pulling her closer.

"No, it's not," Hermione whispered. "Nothing good ever c-comes from c-crying."

Tears leaked out of her exhausted eyes until she had no energy to fight them from escaping in torrents.

"Shh, it is all going to be all right," Harry soothed and watched as she finally calmed, yawning in surrender to her overexerted emotions.

"Come here," he said and pulled her close to him, picking her up and cradling her in his arms. He walked over to the bed and placed her on it, stroking her cheek affectionately. "Get some rest." He moved to walk away and give her space to sleep, but she caught his hand, her eyes suddenly ablaze with fear and loneliness.

"Stay with me?" she croaked and he gave a small smile, nodding.

"All right, scoot over and make room," he chuckled deeply and she did as he asked.

He edged in beside her and she snuggled up to his warm, strong frame. In his arms she felt secure, momentarily safe from the darkness that threatened to obscure her vision of happiness forever. And within moments, both friends were fast asleep.

* * *

She woke when he stirred. He had been trying to be as quiet as possible, so as not to wake her, but he had failed. Hermione's eyes snapped open and watched as Harry perked up, listening to some unknown sound with a panicked look on his face. His wand was gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were as white as marble.

Hermione blinked and looked at her wristwatch. It was five in the morning. How long had they slept? Panic suddenly seized her insides as she realized no one had taken the night watch. Both of them had fallen asleep...And now there was someone in the house with them. They had found them. They had tracked him down!

"Harry-" she started and he whipped around, his eyes wide as he realized she was not asleep.

"Shh, go back to sleep," Harry said and she shook her head, pushing herself up.

"Are you insane? There's someone-"

And just then, Harry's foot gave in contact with the one loose floorboard in the bedroom. The creak echoed loudly through the house and Hermione's breath hitched in her chest. _No_, she screamed silently.

"He's upstairs!" a raspy voice shouted.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted as explosions rattled the house and footsteps stomped up the stairs.

"_No_!" Harry roared as Hermione began to rise from bed. "_Petrificus Totalus!" _

Hermione's body locked, frozen in bed, her hand reaching out for Harry. She was defenseless and confused. She could not move. Why? He ran towards her, tears brimming in his emerald eyes. She had never seen him cry...

"Hermione, I'm so sorry...But I can't let them kill you too. You have to save us. You have to bring us back...Please understand..." he sobbed and before she could even fathom what was happening he was kissing her cheek, a last goodbye, and throwing his cloak of invisibility over her petrified form.

Usually, in cases of life and death, everything is described as drifting past you in slow motion as your life flashes before your eyes. Well, this was not the usual case. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Hermione watched in horror as the door to James and Lily's bedroom was blown to pieces and twenty or so Death Eaters filed in, casting spells. Harry was overwhelms in numbers and spells, but his courage held strong, like always, and he fought back with every ounce of power he had left in him. But in the end, it would not be enough.

Because then a simple man drifted in through the demolished doorway, his wand outstretched. He hardly looked menacing...But Hermione knew. She knew from the moment she saw his red slits, the way the mouth of the unknown man was curling into a sinister sneer, that this was Lord Voldemort possessing his newest victim. And he was about to kill her best friend.

_Harry!_ she wanted to scream, but she could not peep a word. Nothing was uttered, no warning, no goodbye, no scream of horror. She was forced to watch helplessly as a creature of darkness ripped away the life of her best and only remaining friend...

An hour later their triumphant jeers were gone and Harry's strong spell wore off. Hermione trembled out of bed, groping for her wand under the rubble of the crumbling house. She began to sob as she lifted the planks of wood and chunks of plastered ceiling, searching for Harry's lifeless form. And there he was, next to the five candles and blaring radio, unmoving...His emerald eyes were glassy and stared up into the starry sky above him, a peaceful tranquility inside them, a ghost of a smile on his bleeding lips. His glasses lie broken next to his limp, pale hand. The only testament of the Boy-Who-Lived...

Oh, the irony of that title! She was swept away in bittersweet tears as she clung to the remains of her best friend. When there were finally no more tears to cry, Hermione levitated Harry's dead corpse out of the house and into the cemetery where she buried him next to his parents. She conjured a fresh wreath of red roses and hung it on their grave, kissing the tombstone of the now complete Potter family...

"I promise you, Harry, I will bring you back. I will bring you back if it is the last thing I do and I give my dying breath to save you. I _will_ bring you back."

And with that, Hermione Jean Granger pulled out her beaded bag of everything she would need, said the incantation she had studied for the past three months until it was practically molded into her mind, and stepped through the portal of time before the dawn could break on a new morning.


	2. A Splinch In Time

_Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own a thing from the Harry Potter universe. This plot idea is all my own, but I do not own the Harry Potter franchise._

_A/N:Thank you SO much to all those who reviewed. I would like it greatly if you all could continue the reading and reviewing of this story and tell me what you think of it. So, without further delay, here is the next chapter. Enjoy!_

_-Annie_

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_**Two- A Splinch In Time**_

_May 23, 1944_

First, there was peace.

Peace unlike she had ever felt before in her life. Her mind clouded with happy visions of golden meadows where the roses melted to ruby butterflies at the touch of a finger. She was in a new world, a golden moment. Everything she ever wanted was within her reach. Puffs of cotton clouds drifted lazily across a sapphire sky, sweet nectar as bright and golden as the sun enveloped her senses with heavenly aromas, and a handsome boy with round glasses and brilliant, wide green eyes beckoned her toward him.

"H-Harry?" she croaked.

He laughed a booming laugh, one that was so familiar. She darted through the meadow toward him. He laughed again, the sound like bells and so very faraway, yet so near. Hermione was almost there, almost there. And then he began running, running away from her.

"Wait! Wait, Harry!" she called desperately after him.

He was much faster than she was. Her legs felt sore, as if she was drowning in quicksand. Pain and heart wrenching agony ripped apart her insides as he ran and she stumbled loosely after him, calling out to him. The meadow began to swallow her up, the roses and the posies whispering taunting threats in her ear as they pulled her downward, frozen in place, away from her friend.

"Let me go!" she cried, hacking at the razor-teethed flowers, which only moments before had been beautiful and tranquil. "I have to save him! I have to find him! Let me go!"

She fought desperately against the tide of monstrous, dark flowers, but to no avail. They sang their evil, patronizing songs, tracing their bony fingers along her body, yanking her downward through the abyss. The sky erupted in a sea of charcoal and velvet, ominous and dangerous. Shadows in the sky swooped down to devour her, their mouths open waiting to dash her to pieces. The grotesque faces came toward her, closer, closer...

Second, there was pain.

So much pain that she thought she would die. The shadows grabbed at her hair, gnashed at her legs, ripping her limbs to opposite sides...Wild winds swung her round and round, her head snapping sharply in different directions. Screaming enveloped her mind, but whether it was hers or someone else, she knew not. All she saw was shadow and darkness, clawing at her, choking her. Something tore at her arm and she screeched in tremendous agony.

Third, there was confusion.

What was happening? This had never happened before, she was certain of it. But then again, she had never gone fifty some years into the past. This was a new world, an in-between of sorts. Lost souls trapped in the vortex of time, without a purpose, tormented and corrupted, sought to destroy her too. Sought to bring her into their soulless, trapped dimension.

_Remember your purpose_, Hermione reminded herself despite everything. She closed her eyes and thought of Harry. Pain edged on the brim of her mind, but she shut it out. She had to focus, or else she could end up in a time and place she had never intended and their only plan would be destroyed. _Remember your purpose_.

In the distance, a light was breaking. The world began to hum. The shadows screeched in dismay, their lost souls fighting against the light and the loss of a brand new soul. She would not be theirs. She had a purpose, a plan, a fate beyond this. _Remember your purpose_.

Then she crashed into reality, rolling down a large hill draped in blue and purple flowers. The flowers were calm and sleeping, unlike the ones from the vortex who only wished to trap her there forever. There was pain again, ripping open her scalp, throbbing up her throat, searing through her left arm. She gave out a cry and shoved her fingernails into the dirt of the hill, trying to slow her fall. Her fingernails ripped, tearing at skin. She continued to fall, until she fell into a garden and moved no more.

Fourth, there was silence. She was lying on a bed of herbs, their smell wafting into her nostrils. The only sounds she could hear was her ragged breathing and the rumbling of the thunder overhead. Rain torrented down in furious droplets, flooding the ground, producing mud around her head. Her tawny hair fanned out in every direction, playing with the muddy puddles surrounding her.

A voice, so close, screamed. A woman. She sounded terrified, panicked, much like how Hermione felt in that moment. A crimson stain slowly began to progress along the mud, seeping through her drenched, holy jeans and her plaid purple and blue shirt. The stain grew darker and darker until the water and mud around her were completely painted in red. Pain gripped her body once more and she shuddered, blinking against the dark dots lining her vision. No, no, she had to fight it...She couldn't...

Fifth, there was black.

* * *

"Harry!"

She jolted, blindly reaching for something lost and gone. When her vision finally came to, she blinked, shielding her eyes with a bandaged hand. Her left arm throbbed and she gazed down at it. The entirety of her left arm was covered in gauze and bandages. She furrowed her eyebrows and rubbed her head; it was bandaged too. What happened to her?

She racked her brain, trying to remember something, anything. Harry was dead. Voldemort was back. She had gone back in time, just as she and Harry had planned. Harry was there, but then he was gone. Horror had followed his departure. Nightmarish things...Beastly flowers, ravenous clouds, tormented shadows begging her for help, to set them free...Pain. Oh, the pain...She remembered the pain. The fall down the flowered hill. The tranquility of the herb garden. The crimson puddles...

But everything was different now. She was lying in a very comfortable, fluffy bed under a sea of pink and white cotton blankets, all of which were printed with large, decorative paisley patterns. Her head rested on a mountain of silky pink pillows lined with intricate white lace, he honey curls spread out lovingly against the silk and lace. Sunshine, warm and comforting, rained in through the window to her left, winking at the oval mirror across the room. Outside, dark storm clouds were parting for the sun, the grassy ground glistening in the aftermath of a storm. The walls of the room were bright and colorful dressed in pea green wallpaper. A single candle stood on a vanity across from the bed, next to a pink painted wardrobe. Someone, the owner of the room she was guessing, certainly found the color pink preferable.

Where _was _she?

"Wh-What...?" Hermione started hoarsely. Her lips were parched and her throat cracked.

"Don't try talking too much, dearie," a voice said and Hermione started, reaching for a wand that was not there.

A woman, around the age of fifty perhaps, with graying brown hair tied up in a messy bun and twinkling brown eyes covered by half-moon spectacles, rose from the single, white wood chair in the room. She came to stand by Hermione, a timid and warm smile etched on her lovely plump, pink lips. Her cheeks were rosy and she had a smudge of dirt on the bridge of her nose, as if she had been working outside and itched her nose, not realizing what she'd left behind. Even so, she remained lovely. Her body was plump and peach colored and she wore a pale yellow dress and an off-white apron with red ruffles along the sides. It too was covered in dirt.

"Where's my wand?" Hermione croaked, eyes bulging.

"Shh, don't overexert yourself, little miss," the woman instructed and gingerly pushed Hermione back down on the bed. She handed her a glass of a strange blue liquid which sparkled playfully in the crystal sunlight. "You're going to want to drink that right up. Mind you, the taste is far too sweet for my taste buds, but it works wonders on the body. Go on, drink up."

She did as she was told, not really understanding why. She did not know this woman and therefore she should not trust her, but there was something so warm about this woman, so matronly. So...motherly. A thing that Hermione had long since lost in her life.

"Your wand is over there on the vanity, by the way, dear," the woman said, gesturing toward the vanity. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, hardly taking her eyes off of the long stick of wood. The woman smiled again and batted her long, curly brown eyelashes. She boldly reached out and stroked Hermione's face, as she would do to her own daughter, and she patted her cheek.

"The color is returning to your cheeks. It is quite lovely. You remind me of my daughter," the woman complimented and Hermione remained silent, not knowing at all what to say. Both women looked up as someone cleared their throat. In the doorway stood a tall, string bean of a man with a balding head of graying hair, dressed in brown trousers and suspenders. His blue eyes twinkled in amusement as he walked into the bedroom.

"Goodness, dear, already I find you with the girl. I thought you were going to garden and prepare some lunch so that the young girl could rest."

The woman placed her hands on her hips and clucked her tongue like a hen. " If you are asking if I woke her up, I will reply that I most certainly did not. She woke quite on her own. I was just bringing in her potion."

The man winked at Hermione while his wife scuttled to the window and lifted it in a fluid motion, allowing a light breeze to trail in, declaring it was "much too stuffy" inside the room.

"My name is Mr. Alfred Brown," the man said and then gestured to his wife. "And this is my wife Mrs. Mindy Brown."

"B-Brown, you say?" Hermione asked. She wondered if these could be Lavender's ancestors.

"Yes, the Brown family, from Little Hangleton," Mrs. Brown chirped, dusting off the windowsill with her apron. She frowned in distaste. "My, I certainly haven't kept up with my cleaning duties while the children have been away, have I?"

"You do a fine job, my dear," Mr. Brown chuckled, rubbing his wife's shoulder.

Everything was spinning. Too much, too soon, too fast. Was she ready for this? Ready to spin her lie of webs in a time so foreign to her own? _You have no other choice_, she reminded herself and sighed.

"I hope you don't mind," Mr. Brown said, gesturing to her bandages. "I'm a Healer, you see. At St. Mungo's."

"Oh, yes, thank you so much," Hermione said quickly, remembering her manners. "Wh-What happened to me?"

The couple exchanged a glance and then both of them looked at Hermione kindly.

"Well, we were actually wondering about that ourselves," Mrs. Brown told her softly, hinting as only a woman could.

_Prepare to spin your web_, Hermione thought and closed her eyes, remembering back to the back story she had created with Harry. Except Harry was not there...She pushed the thought away and sighed.

"All in good time, all in good time," Mr. Brown said, patting Hermione's foot in a fatherly motion. "It is obvious she isn't ready yet."

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Brown gasped, covering her mouth and blushing. "Forgive me for being so forward. Shall I make us some tea?"

"I would like that very much, please," Hermione agreed and the woman smiled again before scuttling away.

When they were alone, Mr. Brown turned his kind blue eyes to Hermione again.

"You asked what happened to you. I, of course, don't know. But I can tell you in a medical sense what happened to your body, if you wish," he said.

"Of course, thank you," Hermione whispered and he nodded, traveling to the window and looking out into the glistening field, as if remembering.

"It was early morning. My wife was up and about the house earlier than usual this morning," he started and turned to Hermione. "She's a light sleeper during storms. Anyway, she was fixing herself some tea when she heard a scream. At first she thought it was the tea kettle, but when she checked it, she heard nothing. So, she went outside and looked about. That's when she found you lying in our herb garden and screamed for me. I came running and found you. She was fussing about you and moving into hysterics - you'll see what I mean in the future, she's prone to them - and so I helped you into the house and fixed you up. You were unconscious for quite some time, kept muttering a name."

"Harry," she whispered and Mr. Brown snapped his fingers.

"That was it! Anyway, you'd been splinched, and quite badly at that," Mr. Brown told her, only now casting his blue eyes to her again.

It made sense. Hermione had leaped through years and years of time, without having any proper way to truly do so, and she had hardly been focused. It only made sense that she got a bit torn up...

"Your head had a few minor cuts, as did your hands, but those will heal up in the next few days. As for your left arm, that may take a few weeks, and you'll need your rest," he informed her and she nodded. "I reckon it will scar on your shoulder a bit, too. It is the normal case with splinching."

"Thank you, Mr. Brown, for helping me," Hermione said and the man just laughed, shaking his head.

"You don't need to thank me, dear," he said.

"Mr. Brown, do you mind telling me the date?" she asked carefully. "I can't seem to remember..."

"That is perfectly normal, my dear. It is May 23, 1944."

Hermione swallowed and nodded, muttering a small "thank you". Inside, her intestines were doing the jitterbug. It had really worked...

Mrs. Brown took that moment to bustle back in with a tray of peppermint tea. She set it on the vanity and handed Hermione a warm cup before pouring herself and her husband a cup. Mr. Brown perched himself in the cushioned window-seat and Mrs. Brown perched herself on the foot of Hermione's bed. She cleared her throat after a long silence and looked pointedly at Mr. Brown. He sighed and rolled his eyes before turning his gaze to Hermione.

"I'm afraid my wife is modestly nosy," Mr. Brown chuckled, earning an annoyed glare from his wife. "Would you mind, perhaps, sharing how you came to be here and who you are?"

Hermione felt embarrassed. Here she had been lying in this family's bed in their nice home under their care and she hadn't even told them her name.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she started and then winced. Perhaps she should not have told them her name. She hadn't thought of that. Oh well, it was done. "My mother has been dead since I was a young child. I barely remember her, really."

Of course, this was a lie. Hermione remembered her mother very, very well. Her lovely mother with her long, buoyant chestnut hair and golden-flecked green eyes, with her long slender neck and fragile, sweet laugh. She had always smelled of rosewater and eucalyptus leaves, always humming Mozart as she cooked because she said it helped her make a masterpiece every time...Oh, her beautiful mother...Now lying cold and pale six feet under Godric's Hollow cemetery, her right hand folded over her unmoving breast, her left entwined with her husbands.

Choking back her tears before she gave herself away, Hermione pressed on.

"My father was a member of the British army and died fighting for the King" she continued.

"As any good man should be proud to do," Mr. Brown declared proudly. "Our own son, Charles, is serving the King in the army as well."

"Oh, that's wonderful," Hermione said, though she really did not find it all that wonderful. Her story was not true, after all. "Very commendable."

"Do go on, Miss Granger, if you please," Mrs. Brown said eagerly, leaning forward and clasping her hand.

"I've been orphaned ever since," Hermione told them and Mrs. Brown shook her head sadly. "My brother Harold and I were the only living survivors of our family name. We were sent to live in an orphanage and I hardly remember my time there. The last thing I really remember, I suppose, is the day our orphanage was attacked."

"No!" Mrs. Brown gasped, moving her hand to her heart and crossing herself. "Oh, you poor dear. Whatever happened?"

"The orphanage went on a yearly field trip. It was something we all looked forward to. Harold and I were walking along with the other children, when suddenly something happened. It's all so very bleary, I can't remember it. There was an explosion and everyone began screaming...Harold told me to stay where I was and hide, so I did, and he ran off to help like the noble brother he was...He always dreamed of becoming a soldier like our father when he became eighteen. But he died that day, along with the rest of the orphanage, except for a few. I apparated away, terrified and alone, and I had no idea where to go. I know it is never a good idea to apparate without a solid place in mind, but I didn't care. I'd lost everything...and ended up here without a place to go."

By the end of her story, Mrs. Brown was dabbing her eyes and Mr. Brown's mouth was hanging open in shock. He shook his head and patted her foot again, like a father would, and puffed out a sigh. He cleared his throat, not knowing what to say. Neither of them seemed to know how to go about it.

Mrs. Brown suddenly lurched herself forward and embraced Hermione, pressing her into her large bosom and stroking her hair as she sobbed. Mr. Brown nodded towards her, giving her a look that distinctly said, '_ah, hysterics, you see?_'

"Alfred, I must insist she stay here with us over the summer," Mrs. Brown exclaimed, patting Hermione's cheek.

"I must agree with you, darling," Mr. Brown said and rose to his feet. "I will write to Rose and Winnie and tell them what is to happen. I'll leave you two ladies to become better acquainted, yes?"

"Good man!" Mrs. Brown said and followed him out of the room. Seconds later she reappeared, carrying a dress and a bundle of picture frames. She set them on the bed and sat down next to Hermione.

"Here is a dress that our dear Rose wished to give away. She never really liked the darker colors, said they washed her out," Mrs. Brown said, unfolding a beautiful dark green dress. "Here, let's get you out of those rags and into something presentable."

Hermione frowned down at the dress. Ah, yes. The forties. She could no longer wear jeans and T-shirts. She had to look like a lady. Oh, how thrilling. But as Hermione soon came to realize, once Mrs. Brown had fixed up her hair and washed her face and slipped her into the clean, figure-fitting dress, she quite liked the forties and the way the styles made her look. Frankly, she had never looked more beautiful, not even at the Yule Ball, apart from the scratches and bandages.

Once Hermione had been cleaned up, the two of them sat back down on the bed and Mrs. Brown proceeded to tell her all about her family. She pointed to the largest picture, one of a handsome young man with fair golden hair with wisps of red strewn in it, Mr. Brown's sapphire eyes, and the peach and rosy complexion of Mrs. Brown. He was dressed elegantly in his regimental uniform, a proud and dignified look in his eyes.

"That is Charles, our eldest. He's to be engaged, you know," Mrs. Brown beamed proudly, stroking her son's picture. "To a young Ruth Lupin. She is from a good, upstanding and quite wealthy home. Her brother is William Lupin, perhaps you have heard of him? He's well known in London."

"I can't say that I have, though the last name rings a bell," Hermione replied with a dry throat. Lupin. Remus Lupin. Killed by Antonin Dolohov in the Battle of Hogwarts, 1997. His ancestors were here, in this time period.

"Oh, look here, this is my eldest daughter, Rose," Mrs. Brown gushed, pointing to the next picture frame. Inside the picture was a beautiful angel of a girl with a pale complexion and a heart shaped face with two bright brown eyes and long, golden lashes. Her lips were plump like her mothers, but she was much, much more thin. She was quite beautiful.

"She's lovely," Hermione said.

"She is, isn't she? She's about your age I would say," Mrs. Brown said. "How old are you, again?"

"I'll be turning eighteen in September," Hermione said. The truth was Hermione had turned eighteen in September 1997 and had been eighteen for three and a half months practically. But now that she was back in May 1944, she had to work with the times.

"Ah, my Rose is almost nineteen," Mrs. Brown said. "She'll be finishing up her last year at Hogwarts after the summer. She's so very excited."

"But I thought you said she will be nineteen?" Hermione wondered.

"Oh, yes. Rose was inflicted with an illness in the beginning of 1943 and had to stay home that year, but she greatly wished to continue her education so she came back this year, a grade behind her friends."

"How dreadful," Hermione said, gazing down at the beautiful Rose.

"It was, but my little Rosie has always been so strong," Mrs. Brown said, gushing again in pride. She moved to the last picture, smaller than the rest. It was of a younger girl with bouncy chestnut hair, like her mother. In fact, she resembled her mother more than the rest of the children. She had the same color hair, the same twinkling and mischievous brown eyes, and the same rosy complexion. She was quite pretty and had her head cocked to the side, her nose crinkled slightly in the most adorable manner.

"And this?" Hermione wondered.

"Ah, that is my little Winona," Mrs. Brown declared, laughing. "She's quite the little catch, is she not? A bit of a trouble raiser and quick with the tongue, but she's very pretty. Winnie will have no problem catching a husband, in my opinion, but sometimes I fear she is a bit too eager."

"How old is she?" Hermione asked.

"She just turned fourteen last month. She'll be going into her fourth year after this summer," Mrs. Brown said. "Oh!" She suddenly threw her hands up into the air and jumped to her feet, shaking the room with her exuberance. "I have just had the most splendid idea! What if you were to go to Hogwarts with my girls after the summer and finish your proper schooling? Would you like that?""

Hermione blinked and despite everything that had happened to her in the last few days, she found a smile creeping up her face for the first time in a very long time. It was true and genuine and full of happiness. Excitement and longing boiled in her veins. Could she really go back to Hogwarts? She had never been able to finish her year at Hogwarts due to all the war and terror going on. And it would fit perfectly with hers and Harry's plan to save the future.

"I-I - that would be delightful, truly," Hermione answered, beaming.

"Ah, there's a smile. You're quite pretty when you smile, dear," Mrs. Brown complimented, clapping her hands as she threw open the door and called out to her husband. "Don't forget that."

_I won't_, Hermione thought and smiled again, looking out into the lush, sunny countryside of Little Hangleton. _Harry, _she thought wistfully to the wind, _we're going to make it._


	3. Becoming Brown

_Disclaimer: I own nothing from Harry Potter._

_A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, truly, it makes me very happy! So, what are we all thinking of the story? And don't you worry, Tom will be arriving soon. You just have to be patient. Enjoy!_  
_-Annie

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_**Three- Becoming Brown**_

_June 5, 1944._

It was a beautiful summer day, perfect really. The sun peeked out occasionally behind great puffs of white cotton, showering the countryside of Little Hangleton with beauty and shine. It was a grand afternoon at the Brown residence, but Hermione's mind was far from the bustling within the home. She lay on the grassy slope of wildflowers, looking up at the puffs of clouds as they morphed from bunnies to gargoyles in the sky above her. Her hand lay lazily over her eyes to block the occasional sunlight from shining in her eyes. Her other hand, now un-bandaged and healed, toyed with the lush grass beneath her, pulling various strands from the earth.

Summer bees buzzed along the flowers, humming bouncy tunes. Grasshoppers galloped along through the grass, clicking musical beats as they went their way. The smell of summer in Little Hangleton was delicious and wonderful and Hermione would often close her eyes and take in a deep sniff randomly throughout the day. In fact, Hermione spent most of her days outside now, much to Mrs. Brown's distaste.

"You'll ruin your lovely skin!" she would complain as Hermione rushed out the door. But Hermione paid her no mind and eventually Mrs. Brown came to the conclusion that the sun was actually doing Hermione's skin some good. "Oh, look at how lovely the roses in your cheeks are today!" Hermione would smirk in triumph and head outside again, leaving a vexed Mrs. Brown to wonder if she was the victor or if Hermione was.

Hermione was not used to having so much time on her hands and yet having none at the same time. In her time, Hermione would be traveling by foot with Harry, looking for shelter, looking for food, hiding from Snatchers, trying to pry information from local villagers about Voldemort's rising power. Now, in the forties, Hermione had most of her days free to lounge in the sun or read a full novel in one sitting. Other days, especially when Mr. and Mrs. Brown had guests over, Hermione would spend the entire morning picking herbs from Mrs. Brown's garden and helping Mrs. Brown prepare meals. In many ways, Mrs. Brown reminded Hermione greatly of Mrs. Weasley, in that she did all her cooking the "complicated" way as Ron would say. She would spend hours in the kitchen, producing one truffle after another, rolling each bread roll into perfection, mixing one sauce and one spice after the other until everything was perfect and she had the home smelling wonderful.

Mr. Brown was often at work, leaving the two women alone in the house. Every morning he would dip out the front door as Mrs. Brown and Hermione had their tea and biscuits and would wink at them and say, "Try not burning down the house today, yes my dears?" Hermione would then clean her dishes and help Mrs. Brown with the cleaning. When it became brighter and warmer outside as the afternoon approached, Mrs. Brown and Hermione would venture outside and pin up the laundry. Then, they would fix lunch and Hermione would make up some excuse to skip back outside. There, on the grassy hill, staying in Mrs. Brown's sight, Hermione would read various novels and daydream.

In the evening, Mr. Brown would return home and kiss his wife on the lips and ruffle Hermione's hair as if she were his own child before sitting down to eat the dinner that they had prepared for him. Afterward, unlike most men in his time, Mr. Brown would help his wife and Hermione do the dishes and clean up the kitchen, splashing water and making a mess as he did so. Then, they would retire to the parlor of their home, where Mr. Brown would discuss his days events which usually involved some gripping, gory tale of his medical procedures, much to Hermione's delight and Mrs. Brown's chagrin. Mrs. Brown would sit near the fireplace, embroidering or knitting as she always did in her spare time, and Hermione would sit on the windowsill or on the hearth, reading or staring out into the starry night.

Eventually, the older couple would grow tired and retire for the night, leaving Hermione to her thoughts. It was moments like those, when everyone was asleep and the sun had left the hollow sky, that Hermione would miss them. Swept away in a day bliss of pretenses and family, she would mostly forget her woes, until the night came and she lay in her bed staring into the barren sky. It was only then that she would remember that she was not the daughter of a war hero or the sister of Harold Granger, but rather Hermione Granger, daughter of Evelyn and Robert Granger, two Muggle dentists lying cold in the ground some fifty years later in the future. Hermione Granger, the best friend of Ron and Ginny Weasley, who were grieving. Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter, who was dead. Hermione Granger, the orphan Muggle-born witch that would be the downfall to Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard of all time.

She would cry then, sometimes, feeling sorry for herself, until she fell into a deep slumber and dreamed strange dreams. On rare nights, Harry would visit her in her dreams, but he was never there for long. They were always the same. Always in that meadow, running toward him, following him into a black forest as he whipped through the trees, his laughter echoing in her head like bells in a clock tower. But she never reached him, no matter how fast she ran.

Hermione stretched, rolling onto her side. A purple butterfly pirouetted by her, brushing her skin lightly with its whispering wings. She giggled; the feeling was strange and made her slightly giddy. Ah, the beauties of summer.

"Hermione!"

Hermione perked up from the grass and squinted down the hill, toward the Brown's small alabaster home. Mrs. Brown was standing in the open kitchen doorway with a broom in her hand, obviously having just swept, and had her hand on her hip as she searched for her unofficial daughter. Hermione rose to her feet and Mrs. Brown threw back her head and gave a loud, booming laugh, as she was famous for, and beckoned her with a sweaty hand.

"Come, child! I need you!" Mrs. Brown hollered in her sweet fashion and Hermione laughed, slipping and sliding down the flowery hill.

She came to a stop in front of Mrs. Brown, who wagged her finger at her and said, shaking her head, "Mark my words, Hermione Granger, mark my words." This is what she had come accustomed to saying when Hermione did something that Mrs. Brown thought both amusing and perplexing. Mrs. Brown had been an immense help in showing Hermione the ropes of the forties and how every proper young lady should act. Of course, Mrs. Brown soon realized that Hermione was not the typical proper forties young lady. She discovered she had a strong will to her and a wittiness that could get her "into trouble" should she keep it with her, was far too opinionated, and far too skilled in her magic to be quite normal.

"You vex me so, you mysterious girl," she would say.

Hermione smiled at Mrs. Brown, who shook her head again.

"What is it that you needed, Mrs. Brown?" Hermione asked, giving the woman a cheeky grin.

"I need you to go into town and pick up the things on this list. I have no time to make them and the girls will be home with Mr. Brown in a matter of hours," Mrs. Brown said and Hermione could see the stress marks forming on her forehead as the woman passed her an empty basket and a coin purse.

Today was the day that the Brown girls were journeying home from Hogwarts for the summer. It would be the first time that Hermione would meet them and she felt mildly anxious about it. Mr. Brown had written to them the day of Hermione's arrival and told his daughters of the circumstances and Rose, the eldest, had written back that she was incredibly excited, wished to know all about her, could not wait to see her, and insisted that she share her room with her, and they would be 'just as sisters'. She had yet to hear anything from the youngest, Winona.

"Mind you hurry, please," Mrs. Brown reminded her, turning to go back into the kitchen. She called over her shoulder, "If you dawdle, I shall know it, Miss Hermione! Daydreaming is not wanted today. I simply have no time for it!"

Hermione chuckled and mock-saluted the woman while she was not looking before hurrying up the hill and out of Mrs. Brown's sight. She did not dawdle, no matter how much she wanted to, instead hurrying much more than usual into the town. Little Hangleton's market was packed to the brim, unusual for a Tuesday afternoon. She sidestepped the town's beggar, a man with no teeth and far too much hair, and cut across the town square in her haste. A few women saw her and nodded to her before whispering when they thought she wasn't looking, saying, "Oh goodness, look at her today. She's such a strange girl, I daresay. It seems that the Browns have rubbed off on her quite well." Snoots.

Hermione paid them no mind. The Browns had been nothing but hospitable, taking her under their wing and treating her like their own flesh and blood. Not a day went by when she wasn't thankful for them, for who knows what might have become of her had Time not spat her into Mrs. Brown's herb garden.

"Miss Granger, it's fine an' dandy ta see ya again," Mr. Rogerson, the town's baker, greeted as she stepped up to place her order.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rogerson. I hope you are well?" she said, smiling at the elderly man.

"Oh, me knee's been givin' me some trouble as o' late, but other than that everythin's been perfectly tipsy!" the man said and Hermione offered a polite chuckle at his expense. It was only a matter of time before he had to retire, but even when that time should come, he would not go without a fight, that stubborn old man. "The usual, I'm guessin'?"

"Right you are, agian, Mr. Rogerson," Hermione said and waited patiently as the old man hobbled to pack the bread and pastries. He placed them in her basket and Hermione paid him, waving to him as she left.

After securing the rest of the items of Mrs. Brown's list, Hermione was set to leave. But something stopped her on her way out of the town's market. A certain name that rang a gong in her head and stopped her heart, chilling her bones.

"A shame about them Riddles. The anniversary of their death is comin' up so soon, I feel I might faint," an older woman said, fanning herself.

"There, there, Grandmama," a pretty young girl comforted the woman, sitting her down on the bench near the square. "It is a shame, it is. They were such wonderful people."

"Thanks to the heavens the children are all right," the older woman said. "It'd have been even more of a tragedy if they'd been murdered too. Mind you stay away from that side of town, Amelia."

"Yes, Grandmama," the girl assured her grandmother dutifully.

Inside, Hermione's heart was hammering away in her chest. Voldemort had already killed his parents, then. And that meant he had killed Myrtle too. He was already turning into the vile creature he would one day become. She glared at the ground as she left the market, thinking about Voldemort and his evil, filthy ways. And then, as she crested the Brown's hill, Hermione was struck with a peculiar thought. The grandmother in the square had said the most curious thing. What had it been...? Oh, yes. _"Thanks to the heavens the children are all right. It'd have been even more of a tragedy if they'd been murdered too."_ Plural. They. The _children_. How very odd. _She must have had her facts mixed up_, Hermione reasoned. Tom Riddle was the only child in that family. And he'd killed them all.

"Oh, good, you are back! I told you not to dawdle, did I not?" Mrs. Brown clipped, wiping her flour-clad hands on her apron. "What kept you? Don't tell me you went into that bookstore again."

"No, of course not. The baker injured himself recently and he just had to tell me all about it. You know how he can get," Hermione said, handing Mrs. Brown the basket and coin purse.

"Ah, yes I do. There's a good girl. Don't look so perplexed, dear, it will give you wrinkles early on," Mrs. Brown piped and ushered her inside, shutting the kitchen door behind them.

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Later that evening, Hermione found herself in the garden, picking a few last herbs for Mrs. Brown's stew. Mrs. Brown was beside herself in excitement and apprehension for the arrival of her daughters and had declared that everything must be "at its best". Not really wanting to deal with the over-exuberant woman, Hermione slowly picked the herbs, taking her time.

It was then that Hermione heard a curious sound and turned her head. The sun was setting below the hill, drowning the flowers in the rich red and pink hues of the evening sunset. With a jolt, Hermione saw Mr. Brown emerging at the top of the hill, two girls at his side. One was taller with luscious golden hair pulled up in a pale pink ribbon and soft, milky skin, dressed in a charming pink and white dress suitable for a woman her age. This girl, I would imagine to be Rose Brown, the owner of the pink and white room Hermione had been staying in. The other girl, Winona from the likes of it, was shorter and skinnier, flat-chested, and was sporting a bright green dress with billowy white sleeves. Her brown hair tumbled in curls down her back and bounced as she skipped down the hill.

"Mrs. Brown, they're here!" Hermione called, standing up and brushing her hands off on her orange dress.

Mrs. Brown tore through the open doorway, nearly knocking Hermione over in her haste, and practically pounced on her daughters, drawing them into a long, crushing hug.

"Mama! You're crushing me!" Winona whined and scampered out of her mother's arms.

Mrs. Brown continued to fuss over her daughters and it was only when Mr. Brown draped his arm around her that she realized she had been sulking in her loneliness. Rose suddenly caught her eye and tore away from her mother, coming down the rest of the hill and stopping in front of her.

"Miss Hermione Granger, I take it?" she asked, smiling so large that her dimples appeared.

"The one and only," she answered and it seemed Rose's smile was contagious for she found herself smiling largely as well.

"Oh, it is so good to meet you! I'm Rose," she exclaimed and flung her arms around Hermione's neck. "I already know that we will be such good friends!"

"Winnie, introduce yourself to the newest member of our family," Rose said and the younger girl stepped up to Hermione, narrowing her eyes at her with her chin up in a snobbish manner.

"Your hair is rather frizzy," Winona, or Winnie as her family called her, said boldly, sizing her up.

"Winona Grace Brown!" Mrs. Brown chided, but Hermione just chuckled. She was like a younger, brunette version of Lavender. Bold as can be and quick with the tongue.

"Yes, I agree with you there. But you see, it used to be much worse, not tame at all," Hermione told her, whispering as if she were sharing a hidden secret.

Rose burst into laughter beside her and Winnie puckered her lips in distaste for being out-witted. She stomped inside without another word.

"Oh, I do believe I've made quite the start with her," Hermione laughed and Rose took her hand.

"Pay her no mind, she's but an ignorant child. All she cares about are the latest fashions and the latest gossip. She'll not pester you unless it benefits her," Rose told her laughingly. "Come, let's go inside."

After dinner, Hermione and Rose retired to their shared room, laughing as they entered. They were already growing close. Rose was beautiful and kind, yet she shared an intelligence and secret wit that Hermione admired and loved. Rose was glowing as she changed into her nightdress. Hermione changed as well, charming the room around so that she could create another bed, close to the window, that Hermione would sleep in for the remainder of the summer.

Before bed, the girls talked and talked, ranging from light topics of hairstyles and who Rose fancied at Hogwarts, to how her brother Charles had fallen in love with a nurse while injured in the army and how they fell in love while she patched him back together, to how Hermione had come to stay in Little Hangleton. Soon, their minds were tired and their eyes drowsy and they could speak no more. Sleepily, the girls moved to the separate sides of the room and climbed into their beds, waiting for morning to come so that they could talk more.


	4. A Woman Of Stature

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry or Hermione or Tom (sadly!), nor do I own anything from Harry Potter._

_A/N: Reviews, anyone? Please? Enjoy!_  
_-Annie

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_**Four- A Woman Of Stature**_

_August 23, 1944_

"He's here! Mama, he's home!"

Winnie's screeches woke Hermione and Rose from their nap in the parlor. Both girls startled awake, alarmed. When had they fallen asleep? Had they been sleeping long?

"Goodness, what's she shouting about now?" Hermione grumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Rose yawned in response. When her kind brown eyes fell on Hermione, she buckled over in laughter.

"What?" Hermione asked, suddenly self conscious.

"Your hair!" Rose giggled riotously. It seemed to take all her self control not to roll around on the floor kicking and hollering.

"What of it?" Hermione asked, hands flying up to her caramel tresses.

"Have a look," Rose laughed, pulling her over to the mirror above the piano.

"Oh dear," Hermione gasped, staring at her reflection.

Her hair was a hazard. It stuck out unpleasantly in all directions, stubborn. She huffed, finally giving up on her unmanageable hair, and crossed her arms over her chest in agitation. Blasted hair.

"Here, let me," Rose sympathized and began to work her magic on Hermione's hair.

In minutes, Rose's slender fingers had pulled Hermione's unruly curls into an elegant up-do, with several curls spiraling down pleasantly. Hermione turned around and embraced the girl that had become like a sister to her over the months.

"Thank you," she laughed. "How is it that you can make anything beautiful?"

"I don't make things beautiful, Hermione," Rose reminded her, winking. "I only see the beauty in them and remind others of it."

Rose was always coming up with such comments. Hermione rolled her eyes and linked her arms with Rose's.

"Shall we go see what havoc has brought our dear Winnie into such a fright?" Hermione suggested as they stepped into the hallway.

"Yes, I think we shall," Rose agreed.

It didn't take long to find the source of Winnie's screams. Inside the kitchen, Mrs. Brown and Mr. Brown were talking animatedly, as Winnie hopped up and down in excitement. They were staring at something outside through the window.

"What on earth is going on?" Rose asked.

"Charles!" Winnie cried, breaking loose of the house.

Rose and Hermione exchanged surprised looks before following Winnie and Mr. and Mrs. Brown outside. A young man, handsome as can be, was walking swiftly down the hill in a military uniform, looking clean, crisp, and proper. On his arm was a very pretty lady wearing a navy skirt and a lacy white blouse. The gems around her neck were enough to make anyone's eyes pop out of their head. She was beautiful with golden auburn hair and the most beautiful dark ocean blue eyes Hermione had ever seen. She was simply stunning. Behind them trailed another handsome man, bearing a similar resemblance to the woman, except his hair was much more brown than red.

Rose gripped Hermione's elbow tightly.

"Heaven bless me," she gasped and Hermione turned to Rose in confusion.

"What?" she asked.

"It's Ruth and William Lupin," Rose whispered, awestruck.

"Charles's fiance?" Hermione questioned, gazing at the lovely woman.

"Yes. The Lupin family are very prominent in Wizarding society," Rose said.

"Are there other prominent families that I must know about?" Hermione joked and Rose looked at her in all seriousness.

She nodded. "Yes, Hermione. I will show you the majority of them when we arrive at school."

_Ah, lovely, _Hermione thought.

Winnie crashed into her brother, nearly sending his fiance, Ruth Lupin, to the ground. Mrs. Brown instantly barked at Winnie, grabbing onto Ruth and asking if she was okay. Ruth let out a laugh and it sounded like wind chimes. She nodded, blushing modestly. Hermione was incredibly relieved to realize Miss Ruth Lupin was not a snob, but rather a nice rich girl.

Charles laughed, ruffling his sister's hair affectionately. Hermione smiled warmly at the handsome young man, whom she'd come to think of as a brother even though she had never met him. He caught her eye and nodded to her.

"I am guessing this is my famous new sister, Miss Hermione?" Charles asked, smiling charmingly.

"The very same," she said and he reached toward her to kiss her hand.

"It's very nice to meet you," he said sincerely. "I've been hearing such stories from Winnie and Mother."

"Nothing too boisterous, I hope," Hermione laughed.

"Oh, it was of the utmost scandal. I am glad someone is putting them in their places whilst I am away," he chuckled, winking at her. "Good on you."

Hermione smiled and stepped aside to let Charles greet the rest of his family. She stood to the side like a good lady should, just as Ruth and William Lupin did as well.

"Mother, Father, girls," Charles greeted, nodding at each of them as he came to Ruth Lupin's side. "May I present my fiance, Miss Ruth Lupin of Liverpool and her brother, my good friend, Mr. William Lupin, also of Liverpool."

"It is such a pleasure to meet you all," Ruth said sweetly and Mrs. Brown simpered, nearly exploding out of her boots.

"Oh, you must come in and tell me all about your family and how you met my son!" she gushed, wheeling Ruth inside.

"Brother, mind you follow them so Mother doesn't frighten her off," Rose suggested, laughing quietly.

"Ah yes, quite right you are, Rosie," Charles said and then looked over his shoulder at William. "Come now, Lupin, don't be so shy. Socialize, friend, or you shall never make it anywhere in life."

William turned radish red at Charles's comment and I had the distinct impression that Charles often took a liking to prodding fun at William Lupin. William took a step toward Mr. Brown and the girls, giving Charles a withering look.

"Careful, Brown," William said saucily. "You're starting to sound like my mother."

"God help us all!" Charles cried dramatically and darted inside to save his fiance from the grips of his equally dramatic mother.

"Please, excuse my brother's rudeness, Mr. Lupin," Rose said sweetly.

William shook his head, giving a small smile. He was proving as shy as Charles made him out to be. "To be his friend, one must learn to excuse him before he needs excusing, Miss Brown."

It seemed that William was quite taken with Rose at that moment, but as the afternoon proceeded, Winnie considered otherwise. At lunch, Winnie leaned in toward Hermione and whispered in her ear, "I think that Mr. Lupin is enchanted with you, 'Mione. He hasn't taken his eyes off you all night long."

"Don't be so silly, Winnie," Hermione whispered back.

"Believe me or not, his affection is evident," Winnie muttered.

"Girls, it is impolite to gossip so at dinner. Mind your whispers for private, thank you," Mrs. Brown admonished.

"I would like to know what secrets our dear Miss Granger is hiding from us, wouldn't you, Lupin?" Charles announced and Hermione's eyes locked with William's blue ones, dark and deep as the sea. They looked hastily away and Hermione dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

"Quite," was William's only reply and he looked at her from under his long, dark lashes.

Winnie jabbed her elbow into Hermione's ribcage at this and Hermione hid her giggles in her napkin. After lunch, the men went into the parlor to talk about "manly things" and the women ventured outside to stroll about the garden. Up ahead, Winnie and Rose were in deep conversation with Ruth Lupin about something dealing with Paris, France. Mrs. Brown crept toward Hermione and grabbed hold of her elbow, whispering into her ear.

"Look sharp, Miss Hermione," the matronly woman said and Hermione straightened her posture. "You've an admirer it seems."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Brown?' Hermione asked and then followed Mrs. Brown's gaze to the parlor window, where inside the room, William Lupin was staring openly at her. When he caught her looking, he quickly averted his eyes and went to stand on the opposite side of the room, his back turned.

"He's a fine catch, my dear," Mrs. Brown hinted.

"Oh, Mrs. Brown, must you try to match me up with every bachelor that ventures within a ten mile radius of Little Hangleton?" Hermione sighed. "I've no interest in him."

"Don't you find him agreeable?" Mrs. Brown asked, eyes going wild.

"Yes, I find him very handsome, but I will tell you this once more, I am not interested," Hermione said firmly and wagged her finger in the woman's face lovingly. "I will have you hear my words, Mrs. Brown. I won't have you spreading matchmaking words to the young man."

"Mark my words, if you keep this up young lady, you shall end up looking at the long road of a spinster, much like your friend Minerva," Mrs. Brown hissed, upset that _again_ Hermione was refusing to be courted.

"Oh, that reminds me! I must visit her at once," Hermione declared, looking for an escape.

"Oh, no you don't," Mrs. Brown growled, wheeling Hermione back into the house. "We have company. You'll wait until the Lupins leave."

Hermione waited. She waited with bated breath and an impatient, wagging foot. She waited for an hour and a half. Waited and chatted with Ruth until the clock struck eight and the sun began to sink away. When finally the Lupins rose from their chairs, Hermione could barely restrain herself from launching herself out the door and running to her friend's house.

"Goodnight, Miss Granger," William said quietly as he passed her.

"It was very nice meeting you," Hermione offered and watched as he and Ruth disappeared with

Charles through the door.

"I shall see you next week, Ruth!" Mrs. Brown reminded the beautiful redhead, who smiled politely in response. Hermione could see the flicker of nervousness in the young woman's eyes and chuckled quietly. Oh, the joys of Mrs. Brown.

"Now may I visit Minerva?" Hermione asked as soon as the guests were gone.

"Goodness, very well. But be home by nine!" the woman sighed in exasperation.

After kissing Mrs. Brown on the cheek, she broke into a furious run across the field, heading to the neighboring house belonging to the McGonagall family.

After the girls had come home for the summer, Rose insisted that she meet their neighbor, a certain Minvera McGonagall, of whom Rose said she shared a lot in common with. She had been right, of course; Rose was always right. Minerva, who would one day be the most outstanding professor at Hogwarts in the future, proved to be a very wonderful girl. She was vibrant and witty and opinionated, just as Hermione was, and they shared views that many women in that time period thought to be disgraceful. Such as women should be allowed to work wherever they wish, they should be able to wear pants, they should be able to have a career, they should be able to live on their own without a husband and not be scorned or looked at as a spinster.

Minerva and Hermione became fast friends, much like Hermione and Rose had. Disappointingly though, Minerva was plain and unsociable and judged people most harshly and therefore, was not well liked inside the Hogwarts walls. If they didn't have so much in common, she and Hermione would not have been able to become friends. Minerva had trust problems, which resulted in an estranged relationship with her father and a mother that had walked out on the family when she was only five years old. Hermione was certainly shocked to discover this, but it made sense. She was also shocked to discover that Minerva was extremely wealthy, wealthier than the Lupin's and was very prominent in society, though she was secretly disliked by most because of her cold manner and her plainness.

Once Hermione reached Minerva's house, she was let in by their maid Kendra, and swooped up to Minerva's room. Minerva was sitting in her bedroom atop her bed, her long nose buried deep in _Wuthering Heights_. Her long raven hair flowed pin straight like a black river down her back, and her wire rimmed glasses continuously slipped from their perch on the bridge of her nose. Her skin was chalky white with no coloring and she wore a deep purple color on her lips, which only added to her dreary demeanor. She rarely wore color; she thought it a frivolous waste.

"I never took you to be the romantic type, Minerva," Hermione joked, sneaking into her room. Minerva's startling green eyes, as dark as the forest, broke away from her book in a startled manner and took in Hermione's sudden appearance. "But I suppose it makes sense. You make yourself out to be this cold and stiff badger of a woman, parading around in all her macabre lifelessness, yet on the inside you yearn to be swept off your feet and carried into the sunset on a white horse in the arms of a charming prince where you will live happily ever after in his castle and have many, many little Minerva's to taunt and pester you until your death."

This was true, of course, though Minerva would never admit it. In response, Minerva snapped her book shut and quirked a thin, dark eyebrow at Hermione.

"What on earth has possessed you to come running to my house unannounced and without an invitation and sneak about, interrupting my thoughts?" Minerva asked briskly, though her expression was one of amusement. Only Hermione and Rose could get away with teasing Minerva.

"I've news, that's what has possessed me," Hermione said. "Do you wish to hear it or not?"

"Well, I suppose, if it is of that much importance to you," Minerva sighed. "I was at a very good part of my book, you know. So, this had better be good."

"Oh hush," Hermione said and flopped down next to Minerva. "I've just met the Lupins."

"As in William and Ruth Lupin?" Minerva asked and Hermione nodded. "But how?"

"Charles is back and Ruth is his fiance," Hermione said and Minerva's expression faltered, giving her away. It was no secret that Minerva used to fancy Charles before he entered the military. She obviously still did.

"Well then, you must tell him my congratulations," Minerva said simply, covering up her emotions as always. "I have news as well."

"Go on then, don't leave me in suspense," Hermione prodded and Minerva cracked a smile.

"I've made the position of Head Girl!" she exclaimed and Hermione jumped to her feet.

"Oh, Minerva, that's fantastic! I'm so happy for you. You will be the best Hogwarts has ever had!" Hermione said and Minerva went red, elated.

Minerva scrutinized Hermione carefully and after several moments said, "You're not telling me something. Keeping secrets won't do you good in this house, you know."

Hermione sighed and gave in.

"Oh very well. I have an admirer," Hermione said, "Mr. William Lupin, apparently. Minerva perked up at this, but then she saw the look on her face and rolled her eyes, deflating."

"Are you to tell me that you have refused the affections of yet _another_ man? Really, my not being able to keep a man is one thing, but you denying every man that falls to your fancy is just preposterous, 'Mione," she scoffed. Minerva had a liking to trying to get Hermione to fall in love with various men as well. It seemed to give her romantic side a gratification that she could not satisfy with her own heart, so she had to go through Hermione instead.

"Dear Minerva, haven't I already told you our plan?" Hermione laughed, flinging her arm around her friend. "We are to grow up as lonely cat women and make our wildest dreams come true. Who needs men, yes?"

"Oh, capital idea, Hermione, quite grand," Minerva said in sarcasm. "And perhaps one of us will one day be Minister of Magic, yes? Is that in your plan for us as well?"

"Yes, of course."

They collapsed into laughter at the thought.


	5. Preparations

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

_A/N: *big sigh* Okay, so here I rant. There have been a few criticisms on my story, which I welcome, but I've read them on a bad night. So, I think I have to clear some things up and state my peace. I realize that Little Hangleton is a mostly muggle town, BUT with artistic freedom, I have added a few wizards and witches so as to make my story pleasing. I am sorry if some do not like the way I portray Hermione. If so, perhaps you would like to look into one of my other stories, where she is much the rebel and much the kick-ass that everyone has made her out to be. In this story, I am afraid she is not that way. She will be a rebel later on in the story, especially once she meets Tom and goes to Hogwarts, but with all that said, I'm taking a different approach on her than I usually do for this story. Just so everyone knows, I suppose you can guess I am basing this fan-fiction slightly off Jane Austen and in all reality I understand that people would not really be acting that way in the 40's, but it is how I want them to be in this fan-fiction. Also, might I remind all of you that Little Hangleton is not a young town in this story. It is old and full of people that are stubbornly set in their old fashioned ways. *sighs again* I do apologize for those who have become unsatisfied with this story and I hope that you will continue to read it despite your views. My deepest respects._

_-Annie_

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_**Five- Preparations**_

_August 27, 1944._

She was perspiring. The sun was blazing and hot in the sky above the streets of Diagon Alley and coiled streams of heat attacked her body, sweating off her make-up and causing her hair to stick to her forehead. Up ahead Winnie and Rose fanned themselves with their supply lists, complaining about the heat. Mrs. Brown, unlike the girls, seemed to find the heat exhilarating, or perhaps it was the fact that she and Ruth were bombarding every shop in the alley for special things for Ruth and Charles's wedding in December. Was she overly excited? Yes. Did she need to be finding cute baubles for the wedding at this point in time? No. But that was Mrs. Brown for you.

Mr. Brown was at work, as he should be, and Charles had remained at home with William Lupin, insisting that he and his friend would only ruin their day with their presence and would only slow them down. Hermione huffed, blowing several tendrils of hair out of her honey eyes. This was not how she wanted to spend her afternoon. Normally, Hermione would have just gotten her supplies quickly and left before anyone noticed she was there, but as she soon discovered, the Brown women quite enjoyed their shopping and insisted that they stay the majority of their day searching for items that would not benefit them in two days time. Hermione _hated_ shopping. It was going to be a very, very long day.

"Do not slouch in such a way, dear. It does not become you," Mrs. Brown barked, swatting Hermione's backside as she bristled past her to look at a dress shop. She waved Ruth over with an eager hand. "Oh, Ruth, this dress would be simply perfect for your bridesmaids, do not you think?" Ruth smiled and nodded her agreement, but when her deep blue eyes met Hermione's, she pleaded silently for a release from Mrs. Brown's bonds. Hermione offered her silent sympathies with a small smile and a pat on Ruth's shoulder, before trudging along the street to dwell in her miserable state more.

"It is wretchedly hot," Hermione groaned, fanning herself for the twentieth time in the last minute.

Rose turned to look at Hermione, surprised by her outburst. She came to stand beside her, linking arms with Hermione.

"At least there is a breeze," Rose said, trying to comfort her. Optimistic Rose, always trying to see the bright side of things. "The wind seems to be picking up."

"Yes, but haven't you noticed it is a _warm_ breeze? I'll sweat right out of this blouse," Hermione said and Rose rolled her eyes, glancing down at Hermione's plum, short sleeved blouse.

"Oh, don't do that, 'Mione. You'd ruin a perfectly good blouse," Rose joked, obviously not caring for her negativity.

"You're far too happy," Hermione mumbled and Rose swatted her arm.

"And you are much too negative. Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" she said and Hermione replied with a gruff, "Maybe."

"Look, there is the bookshop, just ahead," Rose declared. "It will be air conditioned inside and we can get our books quickly, and hopefully give Mother the slip."

"Rose, you shock me," Hermione joked, allowing the pretty blond to drag her along the street after an equally miserable Winnie.

"Good bloody Lord, I shall perish away into dust!" she exclaimed dramatically.

"Winnie!" Rose chided, grabbing her sister's arm as several older, stiff looking women stared at her with gaping mouths. "Watch your tongue."

In response, Winnie stuck out her tongue and tore away from Rose, stomping off toward the bookstore. Hermione smirked and Rose turned toward her in dismay.

"Your smirks only encourage her actions, you know," Rose sniffed, obviously irritated by Hermione's amusement.

"She's only a child, Rose," Hermione reminded her.

"She has a fire that will ruin her," Rose sighed.

"You sound like your mother," Hermione laughed and Rose cracked a grin, knowing it was true.

Hermione and Rose walked on, but Rose was soon captured by some friends from school and an impatient and very hot Hermione told her she would meet her in the bookstore and proceeded to walk toward her destination. She entered the bookstore after a tall, dark haired young man, stepping to the side as he whipped the door open in a fierce movement and briskly darted inside. Once inside, the bell above the door chimed her entrance and she looked about for her books quickly, basking in the air conditioned bliss of the store.

As she was turning the corner from one of the dusty aisles of books to pay for her things, she slammed into someone ungracefully and fell to the ground, her books crashing beside her. The tall, dark haired young man, who had been the cause of her fall, turned slightly in acknowledgment. And then, to her _amazement_, he simply walked on as if nothing had happened, not caring at all.

"You might help me up," Hermione growled after him, irritated.

The young man turned toward her slowly, but stopped before she could see his face. With cool fingers he brushed aside her comment and scoffed snobbishly.

"And you might watch where you are walking," he replied coolly.

And with that, the snob of a man swept out of the bookstore in fluid movements, books in hand, not even bothering to help her up. Hermione grappled to her feet and picked up her books, seething and red-faced. Her veins boiled with prickling irritation as she slammed her books down in front of the book keeper, who eyed her wearily as she did so. She paid him, not even bothering to thank him in her blinding rage, and swung open the store's door with more force than she had intended.

"Goodness!" Rose exclaimed, having nearly been smashed with the door as Hermione flew out of the store. "Whatever has happened to make you so riled?"

"I've just had the most unpleasant encounter with the rudest man," Hermione explained, searching the streets with narrowed eyes for the tall, rude stranger.

"Well, it certainly seems your day has been bright," Rose muttered and Hermione felt a twinge of remorse. She knew that Rose hated negativity and conflict, but to be honest she didn't care at the moment. She was _not_ in a mood to be lady-like and forcibly pleasant just to please others.

"Merlin's beard, could this afternoon get any more _hot_?" Hermione hissed, rapidly fanning herself with her list of supplies in brisk, sharp movements. Her anger was certainly not helping her cool down her blazing temperature.

And just then, as if the gods were mocking and taunting her, a powerful and sticky August breeze swept coarsely through the alley and careened into Hermione with such force she was left windswept for several seconds. The brutal warm wind grabbed hold of her hair, yanking and pulling it into chaos. Hermione gave a furious swipe at her hair, trying to keep it from coming undone from her bun, and in the process the wind decided to steal her supply list. The breeze seemed to laugh at her as it carried her paper away, kicking her when she was down.

"My list!" Hermione shouted, sprinting after the list.

The giddy parchment bounced along the streets, caressing the feet of innocent passerby.

"Hermione!" Rose called after her, but Hermione set off in determination through the crowd, shoving into everyone and not caring at all who she nearly bowled over.

_Smash._

Hermione collided with a crate of angry blast-ended skewrts, sending the hissing creatures into a spree of exploding tails as she fell to the ground once again. Hermione squelched, covering her face with her hands as the creatures snapped and snarled at her, their fuming tails dangerously close, threatening to burn her. Several people stopped to stare at the scene she was making, yet none of them came to her aid. All except one.

"Dear me," a charming male voice said, breaking through Hermione's frazzled state. "It would seem you've upset these creatures exceedingly. Here, let me help you before you meet your death."

It was a strange way to meet and she must have looked like a fool. She certainly felt it. If Mrs. Brown could only see the rumpus she'd raised...Hermione accepted the large hand and the man helped her to her feet. He caught her as she stumbled, disoriented from her fall. When their eyes met, Hermione nearly gasped. Those eyes, the familiar shade of walnut, shaped in an almond-like fashion...so familiar.

"S-Sirius?" Hermione gasped, clutching the man's shirt.

The man holding onto her laughed, arching an elegant black eyebrow at her. He seemed both amused and confused. Oh, he was so handsome in an achingly familiar way, bearing the most uncanny resemblance to Harry Potter's godfather, Sirius Black, long since passed. He had long, shoulder length ebony hair which he had tied at the nape of his neck in a way that only a Black could pull off. His face was handsome and slender with a long, sharp nose and full, kissable lips.

"Pardon?" he asked laughingly, his tenor voice a melody of the most beautiful notes. _Snap out of it, Granger!_ the voice inside her head screamed at the top of its lungs, swinging her back to reality. _Sirius isn't even alive yet in this time._

"I-I'm sorry," Hermione stuttered, only then realizing how idiotic she must seem. "I mistook you for someone I knew."

"Ah, it is a shame, then," he said and Hermione crinkled her brow. "I had hoped that I had only forgotten you and therefore had had the pleasure of meeting you once before, but it seems this is not so. No matter. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alphard Black."

_Black_. There it was. Alphard Black, Sirius's uncle, later disowned from his family for giving Sirius a hefty amount of gold when he ran away from home. Alphard took Hermione's hand and pressed his elegantly shaped lips lightly and briefly to her hand. Her heart fluttered in surprise and she had to remind herself that it was only normal.

"H-Hermione," she squeaked and then shook her head rapidly, clearing her throat to regain her bearings. "Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black. Thank you for saving me from an untimely end."

This made both of them laugh and he smiled a glorious smile, which seemed to brighten the entire street.

"A humorous woman," he said, impressed. "I like that."

Just then, Rose and Winnie broke through the crowd, shouting for her. Hermione waved them over and they came to her side.

"Did you find your list? My, what on earth happened here?" Rose asked, shocked by her surroundings.

"I was chasing after my list and I tripped, I suppose, into this crate of dreadful little blighters, and Mr. Black here was kind enough to help me," Hermione explained in a flourish. Rose turned to Alphard curiously and Winnie giggled into Rose's elbow in delight at seeing a new, handsome man.

"_Ahem_," Winnie hinted and Hermione sent her a look.

"Very well. Mr. Black, may I introduce my friend, Miss Rose Brown and her sister Miss Winona Brown?" Hermione introduced.

"How do you do?" he said like the pleasant gentleman he was and Winnie giggled uncontrollably, offering him her hand.

"Hermione, don't be so formal," Winnie said, batting her long, pretty lashes at Alphard. "You may call me Winnie, Mr. Black. Winona simply does not fit me."

"No, I daresay it doesn't," Alphard agreed and Winnie smiled brilliantly in delight.

"It is a pity about your list, Hermione," Rose whispered and Hermione nodded darkly. "I suppose you can share mine, though your classes are much more advanced than mine. I hardly think anything on my list would fit yours to perfection..."

Alphard cleared his throat then and Hermione looked at him curiously.

"Do you mean this list?" he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he whipped a piece of parchment from behind his back.

"My list! But how did you manage to catch it?" Hermione wondered, taking it from him with a smile.

"I summoned it back when I saw you running after it," he explained.

"Thank you so much," Hermione laughed.

"I should be the one doing the thanking, Miss Granger, to be sure. If it weren't for that list, I may never have happened upon you. That would have been a failing indeed," Alphard said and Hermione bowed her head, blushing at his boldness.

Winnie seemed quite put out about this exchange and broke the moment, jumping into Alphard's eyesight.

"My, it is terribly hot out, do you not agree, Mr. Black?" she said cutely in her doll-like manner, batting her lashes once more.

"Yes, I should have to agree, Miss Brown. Say, what lucky fortune this is, us meeting outside this ice cream parlor. Do allow me to buy you lovely young ladies a cooling refreshment?"

Hermione declined, of course, though the thought of cold ice cream sounded beyond marvelous. It wouldn't be right for a man she had just met to spend his money so frivolously on her. Rose declined as well, but Winnie, being the flirt and young teenage girl she was, agreed. She draped herself around Alphard and pulled him inside the parlor, giggling as she did so. Before they disappeared, Winnie turned about and stuck her tongue out at Hermione, giving her a small "hmph" in her triumph.

"I do believe Winnie has just stolen your man," Rose said.

"Don't be ridiculous, Rose," Hermione scoffed. "He is not my _man_. I've only just met him."

"Quite a charming young man, isn't he?" Rose commented, nudging Hermione in the ribs with her elbow.

"Shh, he's coming back," Hermione urged and the two girls fell silent.

Alphard and Winnie came back to them with smiles, Winnie's of triumph and Alphard's of mild amusement. The way he looked at Hermione made her insides dance dangerously in a way that was foreign and yet familiar all in the same. Winnie delicately licked away at her vanilla ice cream, fawning over Alphard Black and all his handsome features.

"Well, I believe I must leave you," Alphard said and he truly looked disappointed. "It was wonderful meeting you lovely ladies."

He bowed his head in a charming way and then took Hermione's hand, again frightfully and wonderfully bold. He kissed it again and said, looking up at her through his long lashes, "I do hope to see you at Hogwarts, Miss Granger. Until then."

"Yes, until then," she said to his retreating frame, dazed.

Had that really just happened?

"Oh, don't look now but here come those dreadful Malfoy women," Winnie whined, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"Winnie, hush!" Rose said, embarrassed.

"But it is true!" Winnie argued.

"You still mustn't say such things," Rose chided.

"Oh, poo," Winnie huffed, her beautiful face wrinkling into an adorable pout. "You are no fun."

_Malfoy_? Hermione's head perked up and she looked around wildly.

"Malfoy? Where?"

"There. Oh, now I've done it," Winnie said, pointing and then regretting it when the two thin blond women caught their eye.

Mrs. Malfoy and her daughter were not hard to find. They held the same snobbish, nose-upturned- in-the-air stance that they always had and always will. The crowds parted like the Red Sea as they approached them, their pale faces beautiful and glimmering like opals in the sun. Both women were dressed elegantly in rich periwinkle and pearls, their black shoes shined to perfection. The daughter, quite beautiful, kept her eyes glued to the ground, hiding in her mother's grand shadow.

"Miss Brown," Mrs. Malfoy greeted, inclining her head in a stiff nod toward Rose. "I find you well, I hope?"

"Very much so, thank you. And yourself?" Rose asked, shrinking like the violet she was against such power as the high and mighty Mrs. Malfoy.

"I hear your brother is recently engaged," the woman drawled. "To a certain Miss Lupin, am I correct?"

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy," Rose answered politely. "They are to be married in December."

"Offer them my congratulations, would you?"

"Of course," Rose said and then turned to the beautiful, younger girl. "Hello, Morgana. It is nice to see you again."

The young Malfoy girl glanced at Rose shyly and nodded quickly, her gray eyes flickering toward her mother, as if afraid of her reaction. But Mrs. Malfoy didn't seem vexed about Rose and her daughter. Instead, her attention was raised by Hermione, her silver eyes narrowing in on her.

"I don't believe I've met your friend, Miss Brown," Mrs. Malfoy hinted, her eyes locked on Hermione.

Rose seemed flustered.

"Ah, yes, my apologies. This is our family friend, Miss Hermione Granger," Rose answered. "She's staying with us for the summer. Hermione, may I present Mrs. Demetra Malfoy."

"It is nice to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione said tightly, barely reminding herself to smile. Oh, how she detested Malfoys.

"Charmed," was all Mrs. Malfoy said. "Well, I'll leave you to your shopping. If you see your mother, tell her I wish to speak with her, yes?"

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy," Rose said and Mrs. Malfoy nodded again before wheeling away.

"Come along, Morgana!" she snapped and the pretty young Miss Malfoy scampered away after her domineering mother.

"Lovely pair of witches..." Winnie muttered and this time, instead of chiding her younger sister, Rose remained silent, watching the Malfoy ladies walk away with a sigh of relief.

Hermione shook her head. She couldn't even escape the Malfoy's in the past. She only prayed they didn't have a Draco-like son waiting in the shadows of their skirts.


	6. Remember

_Disclaimer: I own NOTHING from Harry Potter. _

_A/N: Hello all my lovely reviewers! Thank you for all your reviews! Haha, a special thank you to ShimmeringWater and smileylol for your encouraging comments. I was having a really rough day and you both made me smile, so thank you. Normally, criticism is wonderful in helping me develop a story, but some days (like crappy ones), it hits you home. Oh well, that's life and all is well haha. Now that I have stopped rambling, I do believe another chapter is here._

-Annie

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_** Six**_-**_ Remember_**

_August 27, 1944. Later._

The water in the shower was cold and pleasant, enveloping her tense muscles in frigid bitterness. Hermione shivered gratefully, the sweat dissipating off her body. She was grateful for the shower and the relief it gave her from the frightful sun outside. The day had been just as she had guessed: long and hot. When finally the Brown women had decided to have sympathy for poor Ruth and Hermione, they had all left the streets of Diagon Alley and scampered home, talking excitedly about their newly bought items. Evening soon dawned on the horizon, the sun dipping down behind the flowered hills of Little Hangleton and Hermione slipped out of the sight of the Brown family, enjoying her solitude.

Her mind was clouded with thoughts of Alphard Black and his familiar, flirtatious eyes. They way he kissed her hand, the way he smiled at her, the way he talked with her and helped her when no one else around her did. He was charming and kind, flirty and handsome, and so much like Sirius it made her heart sing with temporary pain. It was a confusing feeling, what she had. Denial for her attraction to him pushed against the brims of her mind, refusing to let her believe she had feelings for the strapping young man. But who was she trying to fool? The man was marvelous...

_Stop_, Hermione thought, slapping herself to scurry Alphard's image in her head away. _Stop being foolish! You can't fancy someone in this time...You can't fancy anyone at all. It isn't right. It will only complicate things. You must not let anything get in the way of-_

A shadow moved across the mirror and Hermione jolted, drawing the curtain closer to her. What was that? Hermione's eyes searched the tiny bathroom and came up blank. A trick of the lights must have been the cause. That, or it was her imagination playing tricks on her. But there it was again! A thick cloud of gray shadow swirled in the mirror, blocking her reflection. She shook her head. No, this wasn't happening. And then the shadow morphed into something truly terrifying. It was the face of Harry Potter, staring back at her in the mirror, his brilliant green eyes penetrating her with a glare so powerful she felt her bones beginning to crumble inside her skin. It was a piercing look, an angry look...

She screamed, slamming her eyes shut and mumbling to herself.

"You're not real. You're not real, you are my imagination," she mantra-ed fervently.

"Hermione?" Rose's voice came through the door. "Are you all right? I heard you scream."

Hermione, clutching the curtain closer to her, opened her eyes. The face of her best friend was gone. She breathed deeply, shaking her head at her foolishness.

"Yes, Rose. I just saw a spider. I'm fine," Hermione called, wrapping a towel around her and stepping out of the shower, completely shaken.

What had that _been_?

Minutes later, Hermione sat on her bed, Rose behind her brushing out Hermione's drenched hair. Her thoughts were on Harry and his glaring green eyes, so angry, so piercing. Her heart seemed to quake at the very thought of Harry's anger...

"You seem quite distracted. Are you all right?" Rose asked, braiding Hermione's hair.

_No, Rose, I'm not all right. But you'd never understand. Someone as wonderful and kind as you would never be capable of understanding the hellish person I am, all that I've done, what I've seen..._ Hermione gave Rose a tight smile, nodding pleasantly. Rose saw straight through her lie.

"I think you need a hobby," Rose stated. "It may help you. What sort of things do you like?"

"Reading," Hermione replied and Rose snorted.

"I knew that, silly. What _else_? What did you do before you came to stay here with us?"

_I hid from the law like a criminal on the run, I couldn't save my family when they were murdered, I watched my best friend who was practically my brother die, I broke up with the boy I had liked for years because he wished to stay with his family and not help Harry. I killed. I traveled back in time. _

"Nothing of interest, I assure you," Hermione said lightly.

"Do you play an instrument? Piano?"

"No, I have never been quite good."

"Writing?" Rose inquired.

"Writing," Hermione whispered, nodding. "I do like to write."

"You've always so many ideas swimming around in that mysterious head of yours. Perhaps it will do you some good to write them down and remember them," Rose laughed and then got off the bed, hurrying toward her shopping bags. She fished inside for several seconds until she extracted a tan leather bound book.

"Here, I bought this in Diagon Alley today. Take it and keep it as your journal. For your thoughts."

She tossed it to Hermione, who caught it carefully in her hands. The pages were crisp and new, naked and blank before her, yearning to be touched.

"Thank you," Hermione said, giving the girl who had become like a sister to her a smile.

"Don't thank me, just make sure you write in it or one day you shall explode from all the things you keep inside and I won't be the one to clean up the mess," Rose joked and turned out their lamp. "Now, go to bed. Tomorrow we have to get up early and help Mama with the cleaning before Charles comes back."

Sighing, Hermione slipped her bare feet under the covers and molded into her pillow, waiting for sleep to come.

* * *

She was in the meadow again. The golden sun blazed beautifully overhead, showering the bulbs of purple tulips in glimmering crystals. The floral scent wafted breezily through the warm air, dancing around her, toying with her hair. Wind, as light and soft as a piece of silk, hummed in her ear with musical melodies. She giggled in delight, twirling about in her periwinkle nightgown, her eyes drifting closed like the delicate wings of butterflies.

Suddenly, she was twirling about the meadow, faster, faster. Chuckling wind zipped through her hair, licking at her face. Her eyes opened and found two beautiful orbs of the warmest brown. Alphard's eyes. In the dream he was perfect and flawless, spinning her around with ease. They continued to dance, his hand on her waist, so warm and welcome. Everything was beautiful and wonderful in his arms and she beamed in happiness, but then Alphard began to fade. Until he was nothing but gossamer mist swirling around her.

The clouds rumbled above, rolling over each other in a heap of sudden black. A violent storm pushed away the sun, blocking its warmth and drowning the meadow in a sea of shadows. The glimmers of happiness were gone, replaced by a sinking feeling of despair and fear, raw and stale on her tongue. Sleet lashed out at her like a whip, slicing her skin, snarling her hair. Terror pricked her heart and she looked about the darkness for a sign of escape. Instead, her eyes met his.

Green and sharp, his eyes struck her with a force that caused her to become still and breathless. He was standing stiffly amongst the mossy, dark trees which all seemed to hiss and mock her, whispering dark things. Harry. She ran through the field of decaying flowers, frowning as their once beautiful petals fell to the ground in devestating heaps.

"You have forgotten me," Harry hissed as she stopped in front of him.

Pain slapped her across the face and she stepped toward him, hand outstretched. "No, Harry, how can you say that?"

"Remember..." His fingers, like arctic ice, gripped her hand tightly and pressed her fingers to his scar.

Electricity jolted through her veins, blinding her with its ferocity. Her world was spinning, yet she remained frozen, her fingers pressed to Harry's scar. And then the spinning stopped. She was no longer in the dying meadow, now standing in a compartment in the Hogwarts Express. A younger version of herself sat across from a tiny Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, young and innocent and naive.

"_I've learned all the course books by heart, of course. I just hope it will be enough- I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?_" the younger version asked the boy.

And then the scene changed, spinning away in chaotic colors before materializing into another. She was flying with Harry through a sky of clouds on Buckbeak's back, screaming at the top of her lungs. Then she was standing next to Harry in the entrance hall, her hand on Viktor Krum's arm before the Yule Ball. His green eyes widened as he realized she was his best friend and not just some pretty, nameless date. And then the scene spun into another. She was being cursed by Antonin Dolohov in the Department of Mysteries, pain etched across her face as Harry yelled out to her. It spun away.

"_What's with the birds?" _a flustered looking Ron asked, embarrassed that he'd walked into the one room Hermione and Harry had been hiding in. Lavender giggled beside him. Hermione's eyes quivered with tears. She bit her lip. Raised her wand. _"Opugno!"_

The scene faded away in a flock of yellow, squawking birds. She was standing in a snowy forest, watching as another Hermione, a Hermione she once was, rubbed her arms to keep out the cold. Her amber eyes, full of exhaustion and tears, so close to giving up hope, looked at Harry with a small smile. She turned away, looking into the snowy distance as the sun set on the horizon.

"_Maybe we should just stay here, Harry...grow old,"_ she whispered, bowing her head as the world around them began to spin away and they faded into nothing.

She was standing in Godric's Hollow, watching as a numb duplicate of herself stood with Harry by her side as she stared at the new graves of her parents. Harry's arm wrapped around her shoulder and he shook her lightly. The duplicate Hermione gazed up at Harry with dull eyes and he pulled her into a tight embrace.

"_You know, you don't have to be strong for me anymore, Hermione. It's okay to cry,"_ the black haired boy, now a handsome man, said, rubbing circles into her back. The scene whipped away.

She was now in the Potter's old bedroom with Harry fighting for his life as the memory version of herself lie helpless in bed. Voldemort's wicked red eyes snarled silently, a sibilant laugh whacking the air as a sinister smile glided across the feature's of the man's body he had taken possession of.

Hermione cried out, watching again as her best friend fell to the ground. As the memory version of Hermione lie still in bed, eyes full of fear, unable to move, the real Hermione ran to Harry's side. Tears slid down her cheeks and she knelt down next to him in her dark blue nightgown. Harry's corpse stared up into the fragments of sky above, peaceful. She grazed his face with the back of her hand, tracing his skin softly. Her fingers prickled against his faded stubble.

Suddenly, Harry's corpse sprung to life, gripping her wrist. He looked frightening now, with dark black circles under his dull, green eyes. His skin was snow white and his skin cold and clammy. His voice came out in sharp wheezes, like a hiss of a snake as he yanked her toward him.

"You've forgotten who you are, Hermione. You've forgotten your purpose."

She screamed, ripping her hand away and stumbling away from the demented corpse of her fallen friend.

"_You've forgotten your purpose." _

"Hermione! Wake up!"

Hermione shot bolt upright, gasping for breath as she heaved in sobs, shuddering away her screams. Rose was at her side, stroking her hair, mumbling incoherent things. She was shaking furiously, a cold and panicked sweat clinging to her pasty skin. Her thoughts were racing alongside her heartbeat.

She had forgotten herself, wrapped up in this happy pretense of a world in Little Hangleton. But it was not real. She was not real. Not here in this time. She was from another world, another time, where she had lost everything and everyone had lost it all. The future was in a state of terror and unrest, controlled by a dark wizard. A wizard she had sent back to destroy.

How could she have forgotten it all? It had always been there in the cobwebs of her brain, but repression was a beautiful gift. For the past three months, she had been in a beautiful world where she belonged with the Browns. Her only worries were if Minerva was cross that day or what to make for dinner and how to tell Mrs. Brown that she had broken one of her favorite dishes. She was stuck in a fantasy world full of beauty and kindness, a fairytale that the Brown's had spun for her to help her forget her tragic past. She had lost herself in her cover story. She had become Hermione Granger, the orphan whose father was a Muggle soldier, long deceased and who had never met her mother, whose brother died saving her on field trip for their orphanage...

She'd started, horrifyingly, to forget who she was. She'd forgotten her purpose, forgotten her mission. And in the process she had forgotten Harry, the only person who had meant more to her than all the stars in the sky. That realization was more terrifying than Lord Voldemort himself.

She couldn't let herself become wrapped up in this fake world while everyone was depending on her to keep her head. She had to remember her purpose. She couldn't forget.

The tan leather clad journal at the foot of her bed grinned up at her smugly, revealing a brilliant plan. It would be her way of remembering her past and planning her future, before it all slipped away for good.


	7. A Grand Return

_Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing from Harry Potter, as well all know._

_A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed! Are we eager for Tom? I know I am. But patience is a virtue, believe me. He will be showing up QUITE soon *hint hint*, with a bunch of Tomione action on the way. And kindly review, if you will! Enjoy!_  
_-Annie_

* * *

___**Seven- A Grand Return**_  


_September 1, 1944_

"Goodness, what are you writing in there?"

Hermione's head shot up and she looked about the parlor room, clutching her journal to her chest in a protective manner. Winnie stood behind her, squinting down at the leather bound book in curiosity.

"It's private and none of your concern," Hermione quipped, snapping the book shut.

"Who is Harry?" asked Winnie nosily.

"If you must know, Harry was my brother. The one who died the day I came here," Hermione lied easily—it was becoming easier to lie lately—and Winnie's mouth fell open, surprised that she'd brought up such a topic. She quickly side-stepped the depressing conversation, peppy and energetic as always.

"Why do you write so much in that book anyway?" Winnie asked, wrinkling her nose. "I don't like writing—unless it is a story. Are you writing a novel?"

"That is of no concern to you," Hermione said exasperatedly, irritated by the thorn in her side, whom she had come to call Winnie Brown. "What is it that you wanted anyway?"

"We're leaving in a few minutes for King's Cross," Winnie informed her, wrinkling her nose in her adorable and strangely aggravating manner. "Mama told me to tell you to haul your things to the car."

Hermione sighed and rose fluidly from her seat as Winnie exited the parlor. Her hands gripped her diary close to her chest, still over protective—and with good reason. In the wrong hands, this book could give away all the secrets of her future and could possibly forever ruin the past and inflict a worse fate on the future to come. Normally, Hermione never would have considered keeping such a risky thing, but in this confusing decade, she had to have something she could unload all her secrets to, something to help her remember.

With a sigh, Hermione placed a locking charm on the diary and slipped it into her trunk before dragging the heavy old thing into the yard. Once outside, she sat down on the trunk, admiring the herb garden. She was going to miss it here in the beautiful countryside, but her excitement to return to Hogwarts was much more powerful.

"All packed up, I take it?" Rose said, smiling as she kicked her trunk down beside Hermione's and sat down on it as well. She smoothed the wrinkles in her flowery yellow sundress.

"Yes," Hermione yawned.

Rose eyed her with her usual chastising look and Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Please tell me that you slept for more than three hours last night," Rose groaned, shaking her beautiful head of angelic locks.

"I did," Hermione answered truthfully, but when Rose continued to stare at her with skeptical brown eyes, she continued. "I slept for four."

"Were you really up that late writing in that thing that you only had four hours of sleep?" Rose gasped, sending her a withering glance.

Hermione responded with silence, causing Rose to throw up her hands and scoff, shaking her head again.

"Honestly, Hermione, when I told you to find a hobby, I didn't mean for it to become an obsession!"

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes yet again and stretched out her legs, the muscles in them screaming in protest. What Rose wasn't aware of was the fact that Hermione had spent many nights in her lifetime awake. Once, Hermione had gone without sleep for twenty-seven full hours, sitting in the same position, staring at the same spot, keeping guard. She'd made it just fine.

"All right, ladies!" Mr. Brown hollered, clapping his hands loudly. "Let's head out! We've got a train to catch."

The ride to King's Cross station was a long one and Hermione spent the majority of it scribbling away in her journal, recounting her life story, etching in every minuscule detail she could remember so she would never have to forget a thing ever again. This, of course, only irritated Rose more, for she knew that Hermione was indeed making her writing an obsession. In all truth, it wasn't an obsession; it was a necessity that she write everything down. Once she was done writing everything that _had_ happened, she could start writing what _would be_ happening.

At the station, Mrs. Brown clung to her daughters and Hermione like a leech, breaking into hysterical tears as they tried to leave from under her caring wing and fly away to the train.

"P-Promise you'll w-write every day," Mrs. Brown hiccupped and Rose patted her mother comfortingly.

"Shh, Mama, we'll be okay. We always are," she soothed.

Hermione regarded Mrs. Brown with a small smile. She resembled Mrs. Weasley's personality in many ways, but she was far more emotional and far more old-fashioned.

"Winnie! Make sure you wear a hat outside. Your skin is much too fair to be in the sunlight too long!" Mrs. Brown hollered after her youngest, who had eagerly scampered off to the train. Winnie simply waved her mother off in response, issuing a 'huff' from her mother.

"Rose, dear, take care," Mrs. Brown said worriedly, brushing the hair from Rose's thin face. "If you start feeling ill, I want you to go straight to Madame Beecher, do you understand me?"

"Mama, I am not ill anymore," Rose sighed, her eyes drifting longingly toward the train car.

"_Promise me_!" Mrs. Brown squawked and Rose hugged her mother.

"I promise, Mama. I really must go!" Rose said and tore herself away from her mother to board the school train.

Mrs. Brown then turned to Hermione, her warm and kind eyes full of admiration. With a surprisingly death-like grip, she brought Hermione into a crushing hug, cracking her spine in the process. She began to blubber again as she patted Hermione's head in an entertaining manner and made a scene. With an amused smile, Mr. Brown stood in the corner with Charles and Ruth, who had all said their goodbyes already, knowing Mrs. Brown would take up the majority of the time in her hysterics.

"You write to me all the time, Miss Hermione, you hear me?" Mrs. Brown instructed with a quivering voice, patting her cheek. "You're such a pretty girl, dear. Do try and find a husband, yes? Preferably one with a large fortune so you can have elegant things."

"Oh, Mrs. Brown," Hermione scoffed, smiling despite her annoyance. "I am not interested in acquiring a husband and by no means, if I _was_ looking for one, I would most certainly not be looking at his fortune. Money does not matter to me in the least."

"Oh, you are such a mysterious girl!" Mrs. Brown huffed, again not able to understand where Hermione was coming from, most likely because the time she had grown up in believed that a woman who did not marry before the age of twenty five to a man with a supportable fortune was a disgrace. "Mark my words, young lady; you will not be happy without money. Love only lasts so long. You should have something to fall back on."

"I thought it was the other way around," Hermione laughed and Mrs. Brown flushed, knowing it was true.

"Oh, pah. Go on, get on the train, you vexing girl, before you ruin my day," Mrs. Brown clucked and Hermione gave the woman a swift peck on the cheek before waving to the rest of the family and boarding the train.

Once inside the train's dimly lit hallway, Hermione found Rose talking to Winnie and what appeared to be Winnie's friend. Winnie's friend was taller than her and very pretty, with thick mahogany hair, a pointed nose dotted in freckles, and striking blue eyes. Her face was also a bit pinched and she squinted a lot, as if sizing up everyone that passed her.

"Now, if I hear of you two being unkind to Pippa Lloyd again, I shall not be happy with you," Rose was warning, looking at the two girls dangerously.

Winnie huffed and rolled her eyes, earning a tiny swat from Rose.

"Very _well_, may I go now?" Winnie snapped, annoyed.

"Yes, but I'm warning you—"

"Yes, yes! We _know_!" Winnie's friend chirped, dragging her away down the hallway.

Sighing heavily, Rose turned abruptly, smacking full fledge into Hermione's frame.

"Who was that girl with Winnie?" Hermione inquired curiously as they stepped away from each other.

"Only the single most flirtatious fourth year other than my sister," Rose answered tightly, watching them amble down the train in disapproval. "I don't quite like the girl, but Winnie is crazy about her. Her name is Olive Hornby."

Hermione's face scrunched up. _Olive Hornby_. Where had she heard that before?

"She sounds familiar," Hermione whispered and Rose raised an eyebrow.

"Who, Olive? Oh, she's quite something. Quick with the tongue, just as Winnie is," Rose stated. "In the beginning of last year, Olive and Winnie loved to torment this poor girl, rather unfortunate in my opinion. I wasn't at the school last year due to my illness, but I heard all about it from poor Winnie when she came home for Christmas that year. Olive had gotten a little carried away with her teasing and the girl was found murdered the next day. Winnie and Olive blamed themselves for quite some time, but Olive bounced back within a few weeks and she and Winnie were back to their old ways. Such mean girls, they can be. That poor girl—murdered, can you believe it? It's frightful to imagine, but we've had some black times at our school."

_You have no idea_, Hermione thought. And then it hit her like a freight train. Olive Hornby teased Moaning Myrtle! And 1943 was the year that Myrtle was murdered after running into the bathroom to escape Olive's jeers!

"What was the girl's name? The one who died?" Hermione pondered quickly.

"Her name was Myrtle Lloyd," Rose responded solemnly, peering into different compartments for a familiar face as they trudged through the hallway.

"Myrtle has a sister?" Hermione thought aloud and then laughed uncertainly, realizing her slip. Rose eyed her strangely.

"Yes," she replied suspiciously, "Pippa Lloyd. I swear she is Myrtle reincarnated or something of the sort; they look similar and act the same. But I often feel sorry for Pippa. She is only a third year, but Winnie and Olive can't seem to stop their teasing."

Just then, a young woman drenched in dull colors gracefully pushed her way along the crowded hallway, coming to a standstill in front of Rose and Hermione—Minerva McGonagall in all her glory.

"Why, Minerva. Fancy meeting you here. Come here often?" Hermione humored and Minerva rolled her eyes, pulling Rose and Hermione into a compartment and shutting the door.

All too soon they realized it was taken.

"William!" Rose exclaimed, shocked to see the handsome boy in the corner. The sun through the window shined on his hair, causing the strands of red tucked away neatly within the brown of his hair to glisten beautifully. His eyes drank them in eagerly, resting several long moments on Hermione before he averted them to his book.

"Miss Brown, Miss McGonagall, Miss Granger," William greeted shyly.

"It's nice to see you again, William," Hermione said, smiling sweetly. "Are you well?"

"Quite well, thank you. And yourself?"

_Oh, the formalities_, thought Hermione tiredly. In the future they would have all greeted each other with a, "Hello. How are you?" and be done with it, but back in the forties the rules of society were much more complex. It had given Hermione some frustration, but Rose and Mrs. Brown had helped her learn the ropes, playing off the fact that she was an orphan and hadn't been taught properly whilst inside the orphanage.

"I'm doing well. Would you mind if we shared this compartment with you?" Hermione asked. "I know it was awfully rude of us to just barge in here, but we thought it was unoccupied."

Hermione sent a quick glance toward Minerva, whose cheeks had spotted red.

"Of course. I insist you stay," William said and the girls all took their seats. Hermione sat across from William, much to his unrequited delight, as Minerva slowly sat next to him, staring at the carpet.

"William, I have to say I'm curious. Who was that man you were standing next to before you boarded the train?" Minerva wondered, her voice small.

Hermione was mildly shocked by her boldness, but it shouldn't have been news to her. Minerva was always bold, in the past and the future.

"My brother, Liam," William answered softly.

"I didn't know that you had a brother," Hermione said and William gave her a small smile, avoiding her eyes.

"He and his wife, Martha, live in Surrey," William informed her quietly. "She's expecting her first child in October."

"That's wonderful," Rose said, smiling. "How come you never mentioned this brother of yours?"

"I never saw the occasion," was his only reply.

Minerva's eyes lingered on William's frame for quite some time, as if he was a puzzle she desperately needed to solve. Rain began to fall lightly on their departure as the scarlet train wove away from the station and through the countryside. Forlornly, almost, William stared outside the rain-streaked window for almost an hour, deep in thought. It concerned Hermione, for she had never seen him look so dreary before, but then again, she didn't even really know him. Perhaps this was normal. Even so, she could not help but see the resemblance between Remus and William.

The sun began to droop steadily down in the west, painting the grassy hills of the countryside in pink and orange hues. With the evening sky darkening, the train's lights flickered on at a brighter intensity. Hermione, who had been squinting down at her journal without realizing it, blinked. Her eyes felt strained and uncomfortable, twitching as she rubbed the ache in her hand.

Her amber eyes followed William's movements as he suddenly rose to his feet, stretching as he did so. He leaned down and shook the snoozing Minerva awake, causing her to flinch as she startled conscious.

"I apologize for waking you, but it's time for us to have our Prefects meeting," he told her and with a yawn, she nodded her agreement and stood.

"I'll see you two at the feast," Minerva said, her eyes flickering toward Hermione and Rose briefly before she and William exited the compartment.

Rose peered up from her book, running a slender hand through her blond curls.

"We should change into our robes," she commented, rising to her feet and rummaging through her trunk.

Hermione quickly changed into her robes which, unlike Rose's, bore no House crest, seeing as how she did not yet belong in one. Hermione nibbled her lip at the thought of the Sorting Hat. She would have to be re-sorted, but where would the Sorting Hat place her? Would she be placed in Gryffindor again? Or did the aged hat, just like Time, have a different plan for her?

Once the sky had darkened into a navy canvas, the train rolled to a stop in front of Hogsmeade station. Students of all shapes and sizes bustled eagerly out of the scarlet train and onto the paved ground of Hosgmeade station. The night held a mild chill in the air, the wind whistling through the trees and shaking various leaves off of their branches. Hermione breathed the fresh air in deeply, rubbing the arms of her black sweater to keep away the cool air.

"Hurry, I see an empty carriage!" Rose called from several feet ahead, waving Hermione toward her impatiently.

But Hermione did not move. Instead, she stood perfectly in place, frozen in her spot. Her eyes grew wide and slightly terrified as she took in the sight before her—a winged horse with a skeletal body, reptilian face, and massive, bat-like leathery wings. A thestral. Hermione gripped her trunk tightly, a pale hand jumping to her neck.

"I can see them," she whispered, shocked tears springing to her eyes. "I can _see_ them."

Her shock and awe dissipated, however, when she realized why she could see them. She had witnessed death, probably more times than she could properly count, and she hated that realization. She hated that she could see the ominous and grim horses, invisible to those more fortunate. How lucky they all were, to not see such a terrible thing.

"Hermione?"

Rose's voice echoed through her frozen mind, snapping her out of her morbid thoughts. Offering the blond a reassuring smile, Hermione quickly swung herself into the black carriage and shut the door with a quick _snap_.

Once inside the warmth of the carriage, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at the escape of having to look at the winged horse. Was everything here going to be a constant reminder of the future and all the darkness and horror she had endured while in it?

_Of course it is_, she reasoned darkly, _remember what happened when you let yourself repress your memories of the future? You lost yourself and you forgot everything you stand for. You forgot why you are here._

"Oh, shut up," Hermione breathed inaudibly, quieting her thoughts.

The voice inside her head was right, of course. She had forgotten why she had chosen to step through time with nothing but a beaded bag of knowledgeable wisdom. She had come to avenge the death of her friends, her parents, and the boy that had become like a brother to her over the years. She had come to this space in time to change the future and thereby save it.

Bitter tears sparked in her eyes as she remembered the moments before her departure. The feelings she had experienced at that time were so dark and heated, it tore straight through her soul and engulfed her entire being in determination. She had been so willing to sacrifice all that she was to bring back all that she loved. Had she seen Tom Marvolo Riddle at the moment she stepped through time, she had no doubt that she would have raised her wand without a moment's hesitation and struck him down to the fiery pits of hell, using the same curse he had used to demolish her reason for existing.

However, Hermione had done a very uncharacteristic thing; she'd let go of who Hermione Granger really was and had become the orphan girl of the 1940's, with no past and no future, living carelessly and blissfully in the happiness of the Brown family. She couldn't blame the Brown's for their kindness and their need to make her feel welcome and accepted. If she had been in the same position, she would have felt the obligation to help the wounded orphan girl back to happiness.

But Hermione could not afford to let herself be swept away in happiness and look at the good in life—if she did that again, she would lose the darkness that fueled her to do the unimaginable…to kill.

"Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes snapped toward Rose's concerned face.

"Yes?" she replied.

"We've arrived," Rose announced, still staring at her worriedly.

"Oh, have we? How wonderful," Hermione expressed, her voice light but her heart heavy.

"Are you all right?" asked Rose as Hermione opened the door and went around back to detach her trunk from the carriage's backside.

"I'm fine, Rose," Hermione told her, patting the tall girl on the back as they rolled their trunks to the entrance of the castle.

When Hermione stopped in front of the castle, she felt the air in her lungs catch within her breast, making breathing a laborious task. A warm sensation spread across her abdomen and swam throughout her veins, flushing her with a welcoming, slightly giddy feeling. The looming, towering castle stood proudly on a flourish of tall, lush green grass, its parapets and towers strong and beautiful as always.

A strange pang bit away at her heart, prickling her blood like molten fire. This was her home and fifty somewhat years from now, it would be completely destroyed, everyone within its walls charred and sliced apart. Hermione bit her lip roughly and the throb threw her back to reality, taking her away from the horrific memories of her past.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Rose said from beside her.

All Hermione could manage was a weak nod as she blinked away her tears. Oh, she was so happy to be back home.

"Are you ready to go in?" Rose wondered.

Hermione nodded, giving Rose a smile.

"More than ready," Hermione responded and together they set off toward the large oak doors that awaited them.

Several minutes later, after she had dropped off her trunk and bid her goodbyes to Rose, Hermione stood in front of the entire student body of Hogwarts class of 1944. She gulped, remembering how it had felt to be looked upon with so many curious eyes as a first year. Now, it was worse—she was a seventh year standing fully matured and tall in a sea of tiny, squeaky eleven year olds.

"Flourier, Hanna!"

Hermione, who had been staring at the sea of chatting students, snapped her attention to the person that had just spoken—someone very familiar. And for the hundredth time that evening, Hermione Jean Granger swallowed down her tears.

"Dumbledore…" She whispered his name as if it was sacred.

The young version of Professor Albus Dumbledore was perfectly amusing. He was still the handsome, twinkle-eyed old man that Hermione knew so well, but this one was different. He wore midnight blue robes and still wore his half-moon spectacles, but his hair was shorted and…auburn?

Hermione choked down her giggle, chastising herself for laughing. She knew that Dumbledore had been a redhead—he'd told her so himself—but there was nothing like actually _seeing_ Dumbledore with red hair. She had a clear picture of the old man from the future and this man was certainly not him. Yet, he was.

"Granger, Hermione!" the kind man called out with his chiming voice.

Taking a timid step forward from the crowd of first years, Hermione walked up to the man that would eventually become headmaster of Hogwarts and help save the wizarding world from impending doom. Hermione bit back her smile and the urge to run into the old man's arms and embrace him tightly. As she sat on the stool, she smoothed the wrinkles in her pleated black skirt, looking down at her shoes, her cheeks flushing rouge.

How pathetic. She could look Lord Voldemort straight in the face and not flinch, fight a mass of sadistic Death Eaters without a quiver of fear, but stick her in front of a crowd and Hermione Granger became similar to the Cowardly Lion.

"Students, may I introduce our newest transfer, Hermione Granger?" Dumbledore announced, gesturing toward the nervous wreck of a girl. "I expect you all to treat her kindly and help her in her transition."

Turning away from the swarm of robed students, Dumbledore's eyes fell upon Hermione and she swallowed.

"Not to worry, my dear," Professor Dumbledore comforted, placing the moth-eaten Sorting Hat on top of her curly head, "you are in good hands."

She gave the kind man a sincere smile and waited for the Sorting Hat's voice to invade her mind.

_Ah_, it said with an exaggerated drawl.

_Hello to you, too_, Hermione thought, rolling her eyes. She'd forgotten how dramatic the old hat was.

_An interesting case, indeed. It seems you've obstructed the laws of Time, Miss Granger. Not incredibly wise._

Hermione frowned. _I haven't come here to discuss my former whereabouts_, she thought heatedly,_ so, kindly continue with my sorting so that we may both move on_.

_As, feisty. You are a true Gryffindor at heart, Miss Granger. But you have already been sorted into Gryffindor previously, have you not?_

_I will not tell you again,_ Hermione thought vehemently, _either you sort me right now and stop with this dramatic hogwash or I get up and throw you to the floor_.

_Oh, such venom in your words. Such cunning and malice in your soul—how full of shadow that soul is. You know more darkness than you think. You could do well amongst dark souls_, it stated.

_No. Don't you _dare_ consider placing me in Slytherin!_ Hermione nearly shouted. She squirmed, aware of all the eyes on her. Her sorting was taking quite a long time. _Please, do hurry up!_

_Possibly Ravenclaw? You would work well with an intelligent crowd, with your knowledge. But I don't think you would really fit in well there—you're too proud, too experienced. Too brave._

_I don't ruddy care anymore, _Hermione growled inside her head, _just put me anywhere but Slytherin._

_Are you sure? Your task might be easier if you were to swell among the snakes._

_You stay out of that,_ Hermione thought. _Just make your decision._

_Mm, so pushy. Very well. My decision will have to be—_

"Gryffindor!" announced the Sorting Hat.

"Finally!" someone cried out, but it was quickly drowned in the noise as the entire Gryffindor table burst into cheers and welcoming smiles.

"Hermione, over here!" Rose called, waving to her wildly.

With a grin, Hermione marched over to the empty space beside Rose and sunk in happily, shaking hands with her new Gryffindor companions.

"Where's Winnie?" asked Hermione, searching the table.

"Oh, she's sitting with Olive over at the Ravenclaw table," Rose replied.

"Isn't Winnie in Gryffindor?" Hermione wondered.

"Yes, though sometimes I believe she belongs in Slytherin the way she acts," Rose mumbled. "She's being _'rebellious'_ tonight and sitting with the Ravenclaws instead."

Hermione was about to say something, but Rose interrupted her.

"Oh, look! Headmaster Dippet is about to announce the new Head Boy and Girl!" Rose cried excitedly, clutching Hermione's hand.

Hermione's eyes strayed toward the front of the Great Hall, watching as a rather plump and stubby man with a bristly brown bead and a wide forehead waddled to the front of the platform and took Minerva's shoulder, steering her toward a boy with hair as black as a raven's wing and eyes as cold as an arctic wind. The remarkably handsome boy looked strikingly familiar and Hermione felt two feelings stemming in the pit of her stomach: unbidden, animialistic attraction—as if she was being pulled apart by a magnetic force—and fear. Deep, raw, scathing _fear_. A fear that boiled up her veins like glaciered ice, slicing each vessel and capillary till she bled from every pore. She was staring into the chiseled, angular face of the young Lord Voldemort.

Just then, as if feeling her gaze more strongly than all the others, Tom Marvolo Riddle slowly turned his expressionless face toward her, his stormy eyes, black as the trees in the most forbidden of forests searing into hers, burning away her barriers, penetrating her very soul. His gaze felt foreign, dangerous, captivating, and invasive—like a cobra mesmerizing its prey before sinking its teeth, laden with lethal poison, into the star-struck, unsuspecting victim.

Hermione felt like a victim. And she did not enjoy it.

"I would like to introduce our new Head Boy and Head Girl, Tom Riddle from Slytherin and Minerva McGonagall from Gryffindor," Armando Dippet announced, his nasally voice making him sound incredibly stuck up and spoiled.

There was a smattering of applause, mostly for Minerva, but the entirety of the Slytherin table was clapping respectfully, most likely for Riddle. Meanwhile, Hermione's eyes were locked securely and murderously on the younger version of Lord Voldemort. They remained glued to his expressionless and graceful form until he took his seat on the edge of the Slytherin table.

"I cannot believe heis Head Boy," Minerva snarled, slipping into the empty seat opposite Hermione. "I have to share a Common Room with that little snake!"

Hermione smirked, though she could not say she wasn't shocked by Minerva's outright loathing. The older Minerva McGonagall was never so public with her dislike for anyone, except for Umbridge, but who wouldn't be? Hermione supposed that Voldemort wasn't any different, but then again, he wasn't really Voldemort _yet_, was he?

_Of course he is, you idiot_, the annoying voice in the back of her head argued adamantly, _he's bleeding Lord Voldemort. He's been evil since the moment he was born. He's already killed._

Annoyed with her thoughts, Hermione stabbed her fork into her potatoes roughly, but no one noticed her exaggerated force.

"Oh, Minerva," Rose sighed. "Tom Riddle is a perfectly nice man."

"He's a Slytherin, Rose!" Minerva argued. "When have you ever met a Slytherin that has been nice to you?"

"It's all about house prejudices! Now, really, Minerva," Rose scoffed, her cheeks flushing, "I dislike your prejudice greatly. It's attitudes like yours that add tension between the houses at Hogwarts. This school should be unified in magical learning for all blood statuses and houses, rich or poor."

Hermione's heart warmed. How was Rose not in Hufflepuff? She was so kind and good.

"Tell that to Salazar Slytherin," Minerva argued, pointing her fork at Rose. "He thought that only the purest of blood should attend Hogwarts because they were the only ones suitable for learning."

"And did that happen?" Rose debated, folding her arms across her chest. "No, it didn't. And if people would just learn to get over their prejudices and over their hideous pride, we could have what the founding four actually wanted for Hogwarts."

_It would be a wonderful day if Hogwarts was finally united_, thought Hermione sourly. Of course, she knew it would never happen. It was the very prejudice that Rose and Minerva were discussing that had led to the downfall of Hogwarts in the future.

"I'm going to bed," Rose huffed and rose from her seat. "I'll bid you two good evening."

"Oh, Rose, don't be so put out," Minerva said, rolling her meadow green eyes behind her wire rimmed glasses. "I was just having a conversation."

"You were having an argument with me, Minnie," Rose corrected, "and I don't well like arguing with you when you are in such a temper, so forgive me, but I really must be heading to bed. I'll see you two in the morning."

And without another word, Rose hurried out of the Great Hall, her mane of corn colored hair bobbing surreptitiously behind her.

"Should I go after her?" Hermione wondered.

"Don't worry about her," Minerva casted it off casually. "This happens all the time. She's just too sensitive."

Hermione nodded, knowing it was true, but she still felt as if she should go after Rose. She shook her head instead, turning back to Minerva.

"So, am I wrong to assume that you don't like Tom Riddle?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her prying tone casual.

"I wouldn't necessarily say that I like him or don't like him. I find him suspicious and unnerving, at the very least. What annoys me the most about him is that he's so cocky about his studies and he is _such_ a kiss-up. I would tread careful around Riddle, if I were you, Hermione," Minerva suggested, casting a dark look over Hermione's shoulder. "I have already noticed that he's taken a certain fascination with the back of your head. He may try to recruit you."

Hermione threw a quick glance over her shoulder, but she could not see Tom Riddle. Surely, Minerva was mistaken.

"_Recruit_ me?" Hermione repeated, turning back around. Did she mean recruiting the Death Eaters?

"I have said too much," Minerva sighed tiredly, rubbing her temples. "Look, just be careful around him, will you? I don't trust him. As Rose would say, I have no reason to _not_ trust him, but then again, I have no reason _to_ trust him. He _is_ a Slytherin. One should never trust a Slytherin, Hermione. Mark my words—nothing good will ever come from it."

Hermione stared at Minerva as she rose from her seat and stretched.

"I must bid you goodnight as well, I'm afraid," Minerva told her. "I need to show the first years how to get to the dorm. You'll be all right, won't you?"

"Of course," Hermione replied. "I have my map."

_I have the entire school memorized inside my head, secret passageways and all,_ Hermione stated inside her head. How easy it seemed to be to fool others.

And Hermione knew that deceit, when wielded the right way, could be a very powerful weapon.


End file.
